


Griffons' Wake

by fancywaffles



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancywaffles/pseuds/fancywaffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the Grey Wardens are hearing the Calling, waking up to the wing-beats of Archdemons and a desperate urge to hit the Deep Roads; not all of the Wardens, however, have Garrett Hawke for a brother. Carver Hawke finds himself shuffled between his brother's friends in a vain urge to protect him from a fate he knows is inevitable. That is until something, or more specifically someone, he wants more comes back into his life.</p><p>(Companion/Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3178250/chapters/6904289">Traverse</a>, but can be read alone. Spoilers for Dragon Age: Inquisition)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Carver Hawke woke up gasping for air. The blanket covering him felt confining and the images of drowning in an endless sea of darkspawn had not left him with waking so he threw it off. Then he pushed himself up to standing, taking his leave from the tent to meet the cold night air.

It wasn't as if bad dreams were unfamiliar to him; since becoming a Grey Warden he was lucky if he went a single night without the beating of Archdemon wings twisting into his mind. He was used to that. Bad dreams were part of the deal. Not that it had been his choice; it never was.

He could still remember Garrett's arm holding him up, trying to make jokes as Carver felt the life slip out of him. If he'd gotten to choose for himself, he probably would have let Garrett leave him there. All Carver could think about as the blight burned through his blood was how good it would be to see Bethany and Father again. He'd even _said_ it at one point and his brother had told him to shut up and the jokes had stopped, leaving his brother serious for the first time in their lives. Even that memory was better than the nightmares that haunted him now.

Carver rubbed his hand over his face as he walked around the back side of the tent to avoid Aveline's husband poking at the fire, still on watch. Carver was used to being on the run too, but _that_ was supposed to end with the Wardens. It had been one of the main benefits. Probably the only one, if Carver was honest. He felt a sense of purpose in the Wardens, but that purpose came with a heavier price than an endless supply of darkspawn to kill.

The Calling. He heard it all day. He heard it at night. He heard it through headaches, through weariness, through gnawing hunger. He heard it no matter how far from Orlais they traveled and even now, awake from the dream that only amplified the beckoning Call, Carver heard it.

He turned his hands over in front of his face, remembering that trip through Corypheus’s cage and former Warden-Commander Larius who had gone to meet his death fighting darkspawn and instead had turned into _that_. Carver's hands were still normal, unless... was that a spot?

He brought his hands closer to his face, squinting at them.

"Carver?"

Aveline. Carver felt like he had a nanny. "Can I piss in peace?"

"Your staff must be smaller than I've ever seen if that's you pissing," Aveline said, coming up next to him. She leaned up against the tree, looking out at the marsh ahead of them. "Smells like Ostagar out here," she commented.

"Doesn't smell like dead bodies and darkspawn blood to me," Carver said. He'd gotten pretty used to those smells.

"I meant before that," Aveline said.

Carver snorted. "There was a before that?"

He wondered if the Wardens would have chosen him from the King's Army, or if he had to be dying of the taint and accompanied by two annoying mages before being given a chance. Stroud hadn't been convinced Carver would even survive the Joining. Carver was used to that look.

"You're not sleeping," Aveline said. "Is it getting worse?"

It. Like she could have _any_ idea what he was going through. "No," Carver said.

"Carver..."

"No," Carver repeated. "It's the same as it was when it started. It hasn't gone away. It's not _going_ to go away. It isn't a thing that goes away the farther away from Orlais or the Deep Roads we get."

Aveline sighed. If she was going to get tired of talking to him that quickly, she should have left him damn well alone.

"I should be with the other Wardens," Carver said. "We'd figure this out."

Aveline frowned, when didn't she? "Carver, the last Wardens we met..."

"They weren't in their right head," Carver said. "That doesn't mean they're _all_ like that. I'm not."

"You're not," Aveline said, as if Carver had phrased that like a question. Like he needed reassurance. For all her talk about treating him like a soldier, she was still the nanny.

"Running isn't solving anything. To hell with my brother," Carver said, throwing his hands in the air. "He gets to traipse off on his own, but _I_ have to stay scarce? This is stupid."

"I made a Hawke a promise to keep you out of it," Aveline said.

Carver tapped his fingers on the side of his forehead. "It's here, Aveline. Wherever I go. There is no keeping me out of it, I take it with me."

"I will not be responsible for you running off to the Deep Roads, Carver."

"I'm not..." Carver stumbled over the words a little.

"I see it on your face." She shook her head. "You and your brother are so easy to read when you're up to something. I may not understand the Wardens, but I know that you're not one to back from a fight. The Chantry has fractured and this Inquisition doesn't sit right with me, even with Varric on the inside." She let out a dry snort. "Maybe especially."

"It's going nowhere," Carver said. "They have a small outpost and no support from the Templars. The dwarf exaggerates, he always has."

"Either way, there isn't likely to be an Exalted March on Kirkwall with the Divine dead," Aveline said. She shifted her stance, like the mere mention of her city could get her into fighting form. "If the distance isn't helping, we can go back there. We _should_ go back there."

"Kirkwall's not much better than camping out in the marshes," Carver retorted.

"Glad to have your approval," Aveline said, smugly. She patted him on the shoulder before she moved past him towards camp.

Carver scoffed under his breath. Aveline never felt like more a part of the family than when she completely ignored his opinion. He wasn't sure there was another alternative. He _could_ join the Wardens; he probably should. Maybe he could find wherever Alistair had held up or give Garrett the backup he probably needed. At the moment all of those ideas included knowing where any of those people were and a lot of aimless wandering didn't sound appealing on his own--especially since left without a nanny the Calling would be his only company.


	2. Chapter 2

Creature comforts were no longer something Carver took for granted. He didn't care if Donnic and Aveline chuckled at his sigh of relief once they were seated by the tavern's fireplace and he had a drink in his hand. He was going to enjoy this, because he didn't know how long it would last.

Best yet was when the girl came round to take their orders. Since his Joining Carver had been hungrier than his first growth spurt. He ordered half the menu, counted his coin, and then ordered the other half. Some of it might be cold by the time he finished, but his stomach was churning in anticipation.

"Carver," Aveline said, under her breath once the girl left, bemused. "That's too much food."

"It really isn't," Carver retorted.

Aveline stared at him. "For one man, who is _not_ a Grey Warden, it is."

"I can hide my armor, I can't hide my appetite," Carver said, refusing to admit she was right. He was starving.

"We can say we need some of it wrapped up," Donnic said, taking Aveline's hand. "Then he can finish upstairs. It'll seem that we're preparing."

"And what of tomorrow?" Aveline asked. "When we actually need food wrapped up for the journey?"

"Could pretend you're pregnant," Carver muttered, downing the rest of his ale.

It seemed to have hit a sore spot, both Aveline and Donnic looked aside and he caught Donnic's hand squeezing his wife's. It was stupid to be jealous, he didn't want Donnic to squeeze his hand or to squeeze Aveline's, but it was another 'married' thing that made him miss the Wardens. Aveline feeling like family didn't make Carver feel any less left out, if anything it made her _more_ like family that he felt like this.

"I could be trying to impress the serving girl," Carver said, a little more kindly. "I wouldn't mind that," he added, glancing over at her laughing as she poured another table's drinks. She had short brown hair and her breasts were pushed up in a corset too small for her.

"Carver," Aveline chided, sounding more like herself.

"Not a terrible idea," Donnic said. It was so nice to have someone who occasionally agreed with him. Carver needed to be nicer to him since it seemed like he'd stuck.

Aveline sighed, but it was the kind of sigh she gave to Carver's brother all the time, the one that meant, all right I give. It had been some time since he'd been able to chat up a girl. The Wardens were more like brothers-in-arms and the one time he'd made the mistake of trying something it had ended up being sodding Warden-Commander Tabris. He should have recognized the Hero of Ferelden immediately, but he was too used to elves being like Fenris or Merrill (and apparently the Warden-Commander leaned towards the angry elf side of the spectrum). At least Alistair had been sympathetic, said her type was someone who tried to kill her, so it was probably a long shot.

Carver wondered where Alistair was now, where his other Grey Warden friends were. They wouldn't all have been like that last lot he ran into? Would they?

"First course," the tavern girl said, drawing him out of his thoughts. She bent forward a little, tipping her breasts towards him as she tried to balance all the plates at once and put them in the center of the table. They knocked together with a loud noise, but didn't break. "It isn’t the place where there's usually more'an one course, but cook says since you ordered so much we should keep it fancy. You're not Orlesian, are you?"

"Maker, no," Carver said, a little too emphatically before remembering Aveline's background.

She only snorted, so he was safe.

"We're Free Marchers," Donnic said. "On our way to Denerim."

"Denerim?" the girl asked. "Why'd anyone wanna go there? War's wanting to brew unless Queen Anora gets herself married. It's been ten bloody years and there's still no heir. Last Landsmeet ended bad enough, we don’t need another."

"What do you mean?" Aveline asked. Carver should've been thinking how to chat the girl up, but he had already grabbed his fork and taken a huge, satisfying bite of stew. Hot food was not overrated.

"Had her own father killed, by Cailan's bastard brother from what I hear! I don’t know how those nobles do it." The girl shook her head. "Bad omen, that one. Just asking for another blight with that behavior."

"That's not really how blights work," Donnic said, sounding amused.

As if there were anything amusing about a blight. Even before Carver was a Grey Warden he'd known that. Alistair hadn't been too giving on the details of taking down the Archdemon, but he'd accidentally let slip that all the Wardens who went with them came back, which was not the way it was supposed to work. When Carver pressed for details, he’d only mention a dark path, get all serious, and shut him out.

"Well, I'm not a Grey Warden," the girl said, indignant to the fullest, complete with hands on her ample hips. "But I know that bad follows."

"Bethany!" shouted the tavern owner from across the room. "Stop bothering paying customers and pour more drinks."

Bethany, the tavern girl with his dead twin's name rolled her eyes and put the last of the plates down. "You don't care how long I spend when I put out my tits, but speak for a second and your smalls are all twisted."

"Tits get me more coin, talking gets me nothing," the owner shouted, to a roaring cheer from the patrons nearest to him.

"Bethany," Carver said, looking at her. He certainly wasn't going to try and bed her now. "That's... a nice name."

"Should I get mum so she can thank you for the compliment?" the tavern girl asked, amused.

"My sister was named Bethany," Carver said. The way he said it, must've explained more than he meant. He didn't know why he was telling some random tavern wench that anyway, or thinking about Beth at all.

"Oh," the girl said, awkward and pitying. "Thanks. I'll come out with more plates once you finished--if you don't, you still have to pay," she added, almost apologetically.

"We've got the coin," Aveline said.

The girl nodded and smiled before turning back to tend the other patrons. Carver ignored the looks Aveline and Donnic gave him and started eating his fill. The food was hot, not molding, and the fire was still warming him, so Carver focused on appreciating the moment while it lasted.


	3. Chapter 3

A comfortable bed and freedom from Donnic and Aveline's snoring (or _worse_ ) did nothing to stop another nightmare startling Carver awake again. They'd gotten two rooms, an unnecessary expense, one that would not soon be repeated, but Carver suspected it had more to do with Aveline and Donnic getting some time alone than letting him be by himself for once. He rubbed his hands over his face and lifted off the bed.

Carver had no specific direction in mind when he dragged his boots on and left his room. It wasn't until he was at the stables when he realized that he _did_ have a direction in mind. Carver rubbed his hands over his face and breathed out, watching the steam take shape in the chill of the night. He barely felt the cold. Another Warden perk. Didn't quite make up for the overwhelming urge to throw himself into the Deep Roads at the moment.

He examined his hands again, but it was too cloudy to get a good view. Under a half-covered moon, Carver was sure he could see the beginning of ghoulish pocks taking over his soon-to-be corrupted skin.

Minor psychosis aside, Carver wasn't actually going crazy, so he knew when heard that small scrape against the dirt that someone was coming out and turned on a hair, lifting his arm to block the blow. The knife came loose from the attacker’s hand and Carver shoved him backward, kicking him in the chest. He should have brought his sword; it was stupid to come outside unarmed. It would serve him right if they were mages too.

Why did he have to have that thought? The bolt of fire went straight for him. Carver tucked his head in and rolled to the dirt, until he'd put himself at enough of a distance to push back up again. The horses whinnied their fright, clamping up against the stable doors.

Pride kept him from yelling out for help. They'd run into a few skirmishes of the Mage/Templar war over the past months, but usually he'd had his armor and his sword. "Brilliant move, Carver," he muttered to himself. Then more loudly to the mages. "Why exactly are you attacking me?"

"This tavern gives sanctuary to Templars," the mage said, more like hissed. It was probably three seconds until she became an abomination and then Carver would be without a sword, armor, _and_ up against a demon. "Our cause is just. Why would they do that?"

"Because at least the Templars have coin," Carver said, because Garrett wasn't the only one who had foot-in-mouth disease.

Another bolt of fire shot his way and he stepped back this time, instead of repeating the same move. He still didn't want to call for help, dying might be preferable to hearing Aveline go on about responsibility or his form. He was a Warden, without the armor, without the sword, he was still a Warden.

Carver rushed at the mage, lowering down so that he tackled her at the waist. She let out a gasp of surprise and then he knocked her back hard enough to slam her head onto the ground before she could get another blast in. Warden strength, speed, and reflexes.

And hunger. Blast, he was hungry again.

"Bastard!" Another mage, excellent. All right, maybe not so much with the pride thing then. Carver was about to raise the alarm when the mage coming for him was stopped with an arrow that went through one side of his skull to the other. He flopped forward with an ungainly thud and Carver's familiar savior walked out of the front of the tavern.

"You are always getting into trouble, Junior," Varric said.

Fantastic, Carver thought. Saved by the dwarf. "It runs in the family," Carver replied. "She's not dead," he added, glancing down at the mage.

"Good. We were looking for their hideout; they've been stealing supplies from the villagers."

"Who's we?" Carver asked, brushing the dust off his clothes.

"The Inquisition," Varric said and glanced behind him. The crossbow resting on his shoulder was bigger than his head.

"You know," he said, turning back towards Carver. "Usually, I'd say you have more sword than sense, but even with less sense than normal, I don't see a sword."

"It's upstairs," Carver said. "I am trying not to attract attention to myself."

"Good job so far," Varric said, gesturing to the dead and not-dead mages with a snort. "You're about as good at that as your brother."

"Have you heard from him?" Carver asked, ignoring the dig.

Varric raised an eyebrow, like he'd expected him to take the bait, well keep on dreaming dwarf. Carver wasn't going to walk right into it.

"Yeah, he's--"

"Varric?" That was a woman's voice, glancing back at the tavern entrance, Carver could make out her armored shape.

Varric frowned and shot Carver a look that was supposed to convey--well something, though hell if Carver knew. Then the dwarf smiled wide and called out in a cheerful voice, "No worry, Seeker. Just found our rebel mages attacking this poor stable hand."

The woman scoffed, but Varric hadn't put her at ease at all. She was looking at Carver a little too intently. He was suddenly glad his sword was upstairs; she seemed like the type to recognize it. "That is not our top priority. You," she said to Carver. "Have you seen a Warden go through here?"

Varric was giving him another look. Now it was obvious. "How would I know if I had?" Carver asked.

That didn't seem to please the woman, she pursed her lips and as she came closer, Carver noticed the mark on her armor--what had Varric called her? A Seeker.

Carver wanted to get involved with Templars about as much as he wanted to get involved with mages.

"Come on, Seeker," Varric said. "What would an idiot kid know?"

Carver didn't need to fake the glare.

"Have you seen a man named Blackwall? He was last seen through this area."

Warden Blackwall. Carver had heard of him, but never met the man. If there was another Warden out here maybe Carver should be looking for him instead of heading back to Kirkwall. Two Wardens wouldn't have to disguise their armor and walk outside in their nightclothes because the Calling was rattling around their brains at all hours.

"What does he look like?" Carver asked.

He didn't know why _that_ question made the Seeker look irritated, but she shook her head and let out another scoff, looking down at the mage unconscious beneath them. "We can interrogate her to find their cache."

"That would be _your_ specialty, Seeker," Varric agreed. A little too eager to agree and she must've had his number, because she moved her gaze slowly towards him with a look that might've chilled a normal dwarf's bowels.

"You should head back in, boy," the Seeker said.

Carver didn't have to fake the glare at her either, but he made his way back to the tavern, resisting the urge to give Varric a backwards glance. That was... he wasn't sure what it was, but it was worth risking catching Aveline and Donnic in a private moment to warn them that they were going to be leaving exceptionally early that morning.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm not sure we want to go through Lothering," Aveline said. "It's the most direct path, but it puts us in blighted land and too close to Redcliffe. Our safest course is to cut through the Antivan trading route. We can try to book ship passage from there."

"Because last boat ride to Kirkwall was so much fun," Carver agreed, the sarcasm leaking out of his voice.

Aveline flicked him an annoyed glare, but that was all she said. The next few days were more or less uneventful as they made their way away from the Hinterlands and closer to the Minanter River. 

Carver kept waking up in the middle of the night, gasping for air and walking aimlessly until he stopped. Eventually Aveline and Donnic's watches were more about watching him than watching for bandits. Carver got so tired of it a week in that he told them both to get some rest and took the first watch himself.

He didn't need a nanny. He needed this blighted pounding in his head to go away.

Carver's reflexes were fast, but he was exhausted and angry and wondering how bad it would be to die taking down a league of darkspawn when an arrow flew through the air and landed in his shoulder. He was wearing armor, but it was poor compared to his Warden platemail and so it went through the leather and out the other side. Luck if it was poisoned, another benefit to being a Warden, he had enough time to fight it off--hard for deathroot to compete with the taint.

Carver grabbed his sword that was resting against his leg and stood. "Come out, you bastards!" Loud enough that Aveline and Donnic were shuffling in their tent moments after.

"Hawke," one of the archers said. More like spat.

Perfect. Other than darkspawn, the most common type of attack was because of some connection to Garrett. Carta in the Warden ranks and on one horribly embarrassing occasion he'd even been kidnapped. That wasn't happening again.

"What of it?" Carver asked, scanning the area. His dark vision was better, another Warden perk, but he still couldn't see all of them with so little moonlight.

"In the name of Prince Sebastian Vael, true ruler of Starkhaven you are to be taken into custody for crimes against the Chantry."

That made no sense. Carver counted seven of them. Aveline had to be at least peeking from the tent by now. He held up five and then two fingers behind his back and then readjusted his grip on his longsword. "I think killing darkspawn makes me a pretty good Andrastrian. You should probably tell the Lord of Bow-Up-His-Ass that Grey Wardens have rights in Starkhaven just like anywhere else."

"You were involved in the death of the Grand Cleric and the start of the mage rebellion," said another, like he was reading off some scroll. Carver hadn't spent much time with Sebastian, but he remembered clearly the man's arrows letting loose on Templars next to the rest of them. What a sodding hypocrite.

"That was Anders," Carver snapped. "Who's dead. My brother killed him."

"Did you consent to your fellow's crimes?"

"He wasn't my fellow and I wasn't even there," Carver said. "Saw the explosion, but it was pretty hard to miss."

Always thought the ponce was annoying, but Carver never thought he'd go _that_ crazy.

"Carver, down!" Aveline's voice.

When nanny yelled, Carver listened and ducked down. The Kirkwall Captain of the Guard charged forward barefoot with a shield in front of her and rammed into one of the archers. Donnic took the left and Carver went right without stopping. There were more than archers, but between the three of them even two without boots, it was a fight they were going to win. Carver had been sure of that until one of them threw a damn gas grenade that exploded hot, smoking air stinging his eyes and throwing his vision out of whack. He couldn't swing randomly or he'd ram into Aveline or Donnic, so he blinked fast, moving to put a tree at his back until the smoke cleared. He got another arrow in his leg, but the armor was thick enough there to mostly stop it.

One of the Starkhaven bastards approached him with a sword and Carver squinted to get focus, hefting his longsword up high, but then a flash of bright white light went through the man and he dropped forward.

His brother's glowing elf was behind him with his hand outstretched and a sneer on his face.

"Funny, usually killing seemed to cheer you up," Carver commented.

The elf glared at him and then whipped around, taking his own sword off his back and cleaving one of the attackers in two. Aveline moved to join him, blinking back the gas as furiously as Carver had been.

He heard... barking too. Must've meant Wes and Garrett were here as well, not a surprise considering wherever the elf went Garrett did too.

"Fenris, to your left," Aveline said and the elf moved like it had been a month apart instead of a year and cut through the one on Aveline's left. Carver was not jealous of a glowing elf and his nanny, but he threw himself a little harder into taking down the next attacker.

The smoke had cleared by the time they were done, though Carver's eyes still stung. It hurt worse than the arrow-wounds.

"Carver, you're injured," Donnic said and then nanny was following up on him.

"It's fine, through-and-through and that one mostly stopped by armor," Carver said, but he leaned back against another tree to get a look at it. He healed better now, or at least took the pain easier, but he wasn't unstoppable. The never-ending beckoning in the back of his mind reminded him of that.

Wes ran up to him, the mabari hound paced in a circle befitting a dog half his age and barked until he jumped up and slobbered all over Carver's face. "Oh, shove off," Carver said. "Like I'd forget you used to sit on me."

Wes whined to that and Carver gave in and scratched behind his ears. Aveline was examining his shoulder and he had to look over her armored pauldron to see Fenris, behind him was no one, to the left of him was Donnic, and to the right of him was no one.

"Where's my brother?" Carver asked.

"He's not here," Fenris answered, clipped and somehow even less friendly than he usually was.

"Well I can see that--sort of, still a bit blurry, do you have gas-proof eyes as an elf?"

"Carver," Aveline chided, like a good nanny as she pulled the arrow out of his shoulder and wrapped a cloth around both ends.

"It was a genuine question," Carver retorted. He was still expecting Garrett to show up from behind and complain about how they'd gone off without him. Wes was still running back and forth in circles, bothering Donnic now. His brother would never leave the dog. Or his other pet.

"Where is he?" he asked, a little more seriously, pulling out the second arrow without Aveline's help. She frowned at him, but it wasn't even deep enough to need to be stitched up.

Fenris only let out one sort of loud breath and the mabari whined and backed off. Then the elf walked towards him, stepping over the dead bodies and took a piece of parchment out of his cloak, before handing it to Carver.

The note had been crumpled badly and Carver had to smooth out the edges until it was legible. Garrett's handwriting scrawled only a few sentences:

_I can't watch anyone else I love die. If it happens, it's your and Carver's turn._

_I'm not sorry._

"What a useless tit," Carver said the moment he'd finished reading.

Fenris grunted his agreement.

Aveline sighed. "I'm sure he had his reasons."

"Hawke always does," Fenris agreed holding his hand out for the parchment. Carver handed it back to him, biting back the comment about it being a keepsake.

"Either way, we appreciate the help," Donnic added. Always helpful, that Donnic. Fenris gave him a nod as if they were friends or something. Strange.

"Does it not count as being the hero if you don't do it on your own?" Carver asked. He wished he had that note back in his hand so he could crumple it. "Where does he get off? All that Champion stuff went to his head."

"Do you know why Sebastian's men attacked us?" Aveline asked Fenris. Either they were ignoring Carver or no one disagreed. For his own irritation, he was going to pretend it was the latter.

This time when Wes slobbered up to him, Carver scratched harder behind his ears until he got to his shoulder muscles and then dug his knuckles in. He used to love when Bethany did that, judging by the pleased little 'ruff' he still did. Somehow soothing the stupid dog made him feel a little less annoyed.

"They were following me," Fenris replied. "Us. They thought Hawke was still with me."

"Yeah, but why were they attacking him in the first place?" Carver asked. "Weren't they friends?" He couldn't remember being around Sebastian much, but Garrett was friends with everyone who didn't want to kill him... sometimes even then.

"Sebastian helped us fight the Templars," Aveline said. "This doesn't make sense."

Fenris started to clean the blood off his longsword, seemed like it soothed him. "Hawke helped the mage. Sebastian couldn't move past that."

"My brother had nothing to do with that," Carver said, defensive hackles rising automatically.

"He distracted the Grand Cleric," Aveline said. "He said as much when Anders..."

"Regardless," Fenris said, throwing the cloth he was cleaning his blade with onto one of the bodies. "Sebastian believes his guilt. They have been relentless in their attacks."

"Why're you out here then?" Carver asked, suddenly feeling the urge to wipe his own sword, but driving it down so it didn't look like he was copying.

"There's... an issue I need assistance with. I have been attempting to track down Isabela."

If the issue was tracking down Garrett, Fenris probably would have said so.

"Trading him in for the pirate?" Carver asked.

That seemed to annoy Fenris more if possible. "She has a fleet of ships."

"A fleet?" Aveline balked. "I thought it was only the one."

Fenris snorted, though he seemed no less annoyed. "According to Varric, she's promoted herself to something of an admiral."

"Big hat then," Donnic said and Fenris nodded with a twitch of his lips.

Carver felt left out once again. He'd spent plenty of time with Isabela (both wishing he had and hadn't), but he missed too many years while this little group surrounded Garrett and kept him out of the loop. He missed the Wardens more than ever.

"We need passage to Kirkwall," Aveline said. "Maybe we can help with your... what is your issue?"

"It's better that I show you," Fenris said.

Donnic, Aveline, and Carver eyed each other, but they didn't have much else to do and they had to pack up camp after that battle anyway (couldn't sleep near the dead especially not these days), so they did so and followed Fenris not too far.

Carver had not expected the elf to have an entire camp of his own, let alone one filled with dozens of worried looking elf faces.

"I liberated them from Tevinter slavers attempting to move south," Fenris said.

So he'd murdered the slavers. Well, Carver thought, everyone needed a hobby.

"And you don't know what to do with them," Aveline supplied. She sighed and shook her head. "Fenris..."

"Leaving them there was as good as leaving them dead," Fenris said.

"Maker," Carver said. "My brother sure rubbed off on you."

Donnic laughed, which probably kept Fenris from trying to put his glowy hand through Carver's chest (let him try).

Garrett would have known what to do with the sad, scared faces, but Carver couldn't think of a way to lighten the mood beyond picking up a little doll an elf girl had dropped and walking to hand it back to her. He smiled, trying to look winning. She eyed his smile suspiciously then snatched it and shied away immediately, running to her mother's skirts.

Carver wondered if she would've run if he'd been wearing his grey and blue.

"These rifts aren't leaving most places safe," Aveline said, once Carver was back within earshot. "Maybe we could take them back to Kirkwall. Guardsman Lia has been working with Merrill to keep the Alienage upright."

That was the first Carver had heard of it. He'd thought Merrill had gone back to her people, not stayed around in the city still recovering from the explosion that littered the streets.

"Is she the new Viscount?" Carver asked. No one laughed. He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. Back to being ignored then. Garrett's friends, his nanny.


	5. Chapter 5

Now, Carver understood the joke.

That was a fucking gigantic hat.

"It's fantastic, isn't it?" Isabela said, sweeping towards him, breasts forward (when were they not?). She was dressed in longer trousers, but they had slits up the side and a belt slashed to her waist held a longsword. It made her look more piratey, but less Isabela if that made any sort of sense.

"We have room in the hold for your guests, Fenris, but I'm not sure I want to be harboring Wardens." She was looking at Carver with those teasing eyes that used to make him uncomfortable.

Well sod that. "If you want me to stay in the Captain's Cabin, just say so."

Isabela laughed, at least she was good for that. "Oh, you're prickly. Do you know we found one of those rifts in the middle of the river? Nearly sucked the entire ship into it, would've been a hard end. Then, of course, the demons plugged it up."

"Then you had to fight all the demons," Carver said. "Unless you found other means."

"That only happened once," Isabela said. "And I never even got a ship out of it."

"The rifts seem to be spreading," Fenris said. Donnic and Aveline were helping Isabela's crew with the escaped slaves, while Wes ran back and forth around them. One of the little elf girls called something out in either elven or Tevineter (not that Carver could tell the difference) but whatever it was it made Fenris look supremely uncomfortable.

"You look very heroic," Isabela teased. "Dashing. Would you like a cape? I'm sure Aveline can procure some sort of shield with an emblem on it."

"Next they'll be chanting your name in the streets," Carver added, enjoying ganging up on someone else for once.

Fenris let out an annoyed noise.

"I'm so glad Hawke never fell in love with me," Isabela said, enthusiastically. "Then I'd be all muddled about with feelings and saving poor little slave children."

"I should go," Fenris said, a little pointedly.

"You're not coming along?" Isabela asked, immediately stopping her teasing. "You'll leave me bereft?"

"Yes," Fenris replied. "I have other things to attend to."

"Never run out of slavers to kill," Carver said. He wondered if Fenris was going after Garrett. The urge to tell him to kick him warred with the protective instinct to tell the elf to look out for him.

"The only bright side to Tevinter pushing its borders," Fenris said, agreeing. He whistled a high pitch and Wes bounded over immediately, as if Fenris, not Garrett was his master. Fenris said something too low to catch to the dog and gave him one disinterested pat on the head.

Wes whined and then walked towards Carver. "You're not taking him with you?" Carver asked. It was always more Garrett's dog than Carver's, not that he'd mind watching Merrill tell the mabari about the Dread Wolf again when they got back to Kirkwall. Wouldn't mind much about seeing Merrill again, but he was trying not to think on it too hard.

"I travel better on my own," Fenris said. "If Sebastian continues to press his attacks, I will go to Starkhaven directly."

"And best not to have a slobbery Hawke mascot," Isabela provided, ignoring Wes's indignant whine.

"Go play with the kids," Carver suggested, shoving the dog off with his knee. Wes licked his hand and then ran off. The more energy he burned the less likely he was to vomit once they shipped off.

Fenris only waited long enough to get Aveline and Donnic's attention and then disappeared past the docks. He could not have been more overdramatic if he'd been trying.

Isabela let out a forlorn little sigh. "It would have been nice to have a turn on that before Hawke went and got feelings."

"You know you say these things out loud," Carver said.

Isabela smiled at him and they walked onto the ship to meet up with Aveline and Donnic. The escaped slaves were milling about and Isabela gave her crew more orders and a slightly horrifying speech about which parts of them she'd cut off if she caught them with any of the elves down below. Then she swanned back towards Carver, Aveline, and Donnic, and leaned against the boat's railing as the anchor started to get drawn up.

"It feels so good to have solid, polished wood beneath me again," Isabela said. And then stretched her arms out over her head.

"The ship too, no doubt," Carver replied.

Isabela laughed again, but this time like he'd startled her into it. She hooked her arm into his, nudging him with her hip. "I like you all grown up."

"No, you don't," Aveline said sharply.

"Big girl, you are still no fun," Isabela said, she tipped her head forward, knocking Carver's neck with the brim of her giant hat.

"You are still too much," Aveline replied.

"Fun?" Isabela asked, still smiling.

"Everything," Aveline said.

"Thank you for giving us transport," Donnic said, cutting the tension.

"I can always use a strong man to help carry things about the ship," Isabela. "You and Carver are added bonuses."

"Slattern," Aveline said.

Isabela preened at her and tugged Carver forward. "Come now, let Captain Isabela give you all the tour of my beauty."

"You specifically listed body parts you'd cut off if anyone did that," Carver said, making Isabela laugh and shrug.

"Not if it's an invitation." She squeezed his bicep and flashed him a leading grin. Carver ignored her. Even if she was serious, he wasn't going to have Garrett's leftovers, it was bad enough being stuck in his shadow.


	6. Chapter 6

Carver woke up gasping for air. He stumbled, directionless, until he was at the top deck. This time it wasn't only the screaming Archdemon ordering him about like he was Garrett, but with less humor, this time it was Bethany. He leaned against the side of the boat and felt the sea spray in his face, trying wake him up.

At least they had run of the ship this time, not stuck down in the hold for weeks with a newly met Aveline and no Beth. Mother had cried constantly and Garrett had been terrible at comforting her. Carver could... only because he was something for her to hold onto that reminded her of his twin. It wasn't... it wasn't really Garrett's fault even though he'd said that. Bethany shouldn't have run off like that, though if Carver had been closer to Mother and that ogre, he certainly would have.

Every ogre in the Deep Roads got a face full of sword when Carver ran them through, but it never brought Bethany back. Only fantastic moments with the sea rocking beneath them and the Calling clamoring over his ears brought the memory of her back. Nothing about that felt right. If his life were ever fair, he'd remember his twin on sunny days where there was just enough cloud cover to keep the weather temperate.

A hand grasped his bicep and tugged him backwards from leaning over the railing. If he hadn't turned around, out of instinct for a fight (Warden or merely being Ferelden) he would have assumed Aveline rather than Isabela, staring at him with a mixture of confusion and anger.

And concern, he noted after she spoke. "Are you mad? There's no swimming route to the Deep Roads."

"I was leaning over the rail," Caver said. "I wasn't planning on jumping."

"Aveline told me all about your nightly trounces that have nothing to do with anything in the least bit what a nightly trounce should be," Isabela said, with pursed lips.

"Oh don't worry, Aveline and Donnic get enough of that on their own."

"That is a worrisome threesome," Isabela retorted, just as quickly, but before Carver could reply she added. "You look terrible."

"What a coincidence," Carver replied. "I feel terrible."

Isabela sighed and shook her head. She looked slightly less ridiculous without the hat. He wondered if her Captain's Cabin had a special place for it.

"Did you give Aveline the night off from nanny duty?" Carver asked, unable to keep the bite out of his voice.

Isabela didn't rise to it, but instead let out a short laugh and then leaned her own arms over the edge of the ship, leaning into the salt spray like she was born to it. Knowing her, she probably was. Isabela was never a woman that Carver saw being uncomfortable (always preferring to make others feel that way), but comparing her in Kirkwall to now was jarring.

"You could have worse people looking out for you."

"Fenris left me the sodding dog," Carver said. He was sure it was only half, because he didn't want to deal with Wes's snoring.

"Oh poor Carver," Isabela said, no sympathy in her voice, but she nudged him with her hip until he joined her, going back to the same position he'd been in previously.

"Drowning seems a very inefficient way to end things," Carver said, staring at the dark, sloshing water beneath them.

"Quick in the right currents," Isabela said, a little somber. She squinted out at something in the distance. "Is there a preferable way to die?"

"Underneath two ample breasted tavern wenches?" Carver said, making it too much of a question to come across as confidently as he was attempting.

Isabela laughed all the same. Always good for a laugh at least. "Sounds better than that Grey Warden nonsense."

"Worse ways to go than killing darkspawn," Carver said. There was a sense of finality to his voice. It was a comfort to know how he'd die, better than it being a surprise like it had been for Bethany. He wondered how long she'd thought he or Garrett was going to save her. There hadn't been much time to do anything, except kill the ogre afterwards.

"Preferable not to die at all," Isabela said.

"You should paint that on the side of the ship."

Isabela smiled at him. "The salt water would wash it off."

"Irony for you," Carver retorted and gave into the urge to rub his hand over his face. He was exhausted.

"How long since you've slept through the night?" Isabela asked.

"Months," Carver said. "I get enough. Need less now."

"Mm," Isabela purred. "I have heard things of the Grey Warden stamina, though I never had a chance to test it out."

"Now there's a surprise," Carver said, arching an eyebrow.

"They're terribly difficult to root out," Isabela said, almost pouting. "Met one ages ago, during the Blight, but she was not interested in sharing and the other one was very skittish, almost like a newly born foal." She smiled at the memory, a little like a sharp-toothed animal thinking about shredding the throat of its prey. Then her gaze flicked to his.

Carver knew the interest was perfunctory, minimal, but it was flattering all the same. Flirting with Isabela was easy, because he had no investment in it. "Is that all I'm good for, you testing the waters on Wardens?"

"I've already tested the waters on Hawkes," Isabela said with a friendly shrug.

"I remember," Carver said, dryly. "Thin walls."

Isabela let out a happy sigh. "Your brother, absolute _marvel_ in the sack."

Carver made a face. "Oh look at that, the sea sickness is back."

"Top ten at least," Isabela continued, because she was shameless.

"So Merrill..." Carver said, struggling for a topic, _any_ topic that wasn't her and Garrett rutting. "You've uh... seen her lately?"

"Not lately, been a bit busy with the ships, but she writes," Isabela said, a more sincere sort of smile taking over her face.

"Aveline said she was still in Kirkwall, I thought she would have... gone back to her people or something."

"Her people weren't that fond of her last time she saw them," Isabela said, like she could relate.

"How is she?" Carver asked.

Isabela shrugged. "She's as well as she could be considering the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"That whole dramatic war thing playing out," Isabela said with a shrug. "She should have taken my offer and come with."

"She didn't like the last boat ride she was on last time either," Carver said. "Can't complain about the dog vomit when she had to deal with a herd of halla."

"That dog is _not_ going to vomit on my--" Isabela started to say and then turned towards Carver with an assessing eye. "Andraste's granny panties, Carver!"

"What?"

"You--and Merrill, no!"

"Me and Merrill what?" Carver asked, actually feeling a bit sick now. He was a Warden, Isabela was not allowed to get under his skin.

"I can't believe I didn't notice before! You and Kitten."

"Stop repeating that," Carver said. "That isn't... I was only trying to find a topic that wasn't about you and my brother. Don't read anything into it."

"This is adorable," Isabela said. "I am all for it. You should tell her."

"Tell her what?" Carver asked, putting up a blatant front of ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about. You've got completely the wrong idea."

"You should have my help, Merrill is so painfully oblivious to these things."

"There is no thing," Carver snapped. He felt like pitching himself over the side of the boat now for real. "I haven't seen her in a year, I was only curious how she was doing."

"You didn't ask about Varric," Isabela pointed out.

"I just saw Varric," Carver said. "All of us... We all... got on when I wasn't a Warden. Merrill is... someone I assumed you'd have more insight into."

Isabela was laughing at him. Carver was tempted to push her over the side of the boat, but with her breasts and head full of hot air, she'd probably float.

"You've got it wrong, all right?" Carver said. "It isn't like that. I didn't ask if she had a boyfriend or something, did I?"

He bet she did. Someone elfy and Dalish with a stupid mustache

"Do you want to know if she has a boyfriend?" Isabela asked, eyes full of a wicked gleam.

_Yes_. "No," Carver said, shortly. "Look can we change the topic? If this is going to give you ridiculous ideas, go back to talking about sex with my brother."

"You must have it terribly bad," Isabela said, still laughing and even worse, she sounded sympathetic.

"I don't," Carver said. "I've been busy with darkspawn killing and avoiding people wanting to kill me on account of my brother--nothing new there--I haven't thought about Merrill in ages. Not that I ever--oh for Maker's sake, Isabela."

"Stop twisting your Warden-issue-knickers," Isabela said and nudged him with her elbow. "She hasn't got anyone. She should. She's too sweet to be lonely."

"Then maybe the Grey Warden who probably should be walking the Deep Roads instead of on a ship headed to bloody Kirkwall to hide isn't the right option," Carver said, leaning forward over the edge until the spray of the water wet his collar.

Isabela was silent for once, though there was no telling what that woman was thinking when it wasn't something dirty. "I'm not Aveline."

"Obviously," Carver retorted, but looked at her. The pirate almost looked thoughtful. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that it's your life, Carver," Isabela said. "If you want me to drop you off on some other port than Kirkwall and run off to join your fellow Wardens, I won't stop you."

Carver stared at her, waiting for the add-on joke, but she was being serious for once. "Thanks," he said. "I'll think about it."

"It is _stupid_ ," Isabela added, apparently unable to help herself. "But stopping people from doing stupid things would make the world we live in such a boring place."

"Couldn't have that," Carver agreed.

Isabela smiled at him and then they both stared out at the rippling sea waves reflecting the moonlight.


	7. Chapter 7

Carver didn't take Isabela up on her offer, even though he was certain he would regret it. He didn't have a real reason for it, except he knew Aveline would trudge after him like the good nanny she was. The approach of the giant statues on the entrance to Kirkwall was strange... they were familiar, but also defaced. Kirkwall was still broken from the explosion, but even if it had been whole Carver wasn't sure it felt like home, not the way Lothering had.

Without Garrett or Mother there, Kirkwall was just a city.

Wes whined at their approach, whether or not the dog felt homesick or was tired of being on the boat was impossible to tell even if Carver felt like trying. He started barking excitedly around the same time Isabela started to shout incomprehensible sailor nonsense about gibs and sails to her crew.

Most of the elves were above deck now, looking out at the city with mixed expressions. Carver didn't know about being an elf, but he knew about losing your home to some blighted war and seeing Kirkwall for the first time after a long boat ride.

Carver watched with disinterest as the docking went off without a hitch (save the actual hitch the boat was tied to). His interest turned once he saw an elf at the dock... more specifically Merrill.

She was still all angles and easily recognizable by the way she stood, waving and calling up to Isabela. Her hair was longer than it had been the last time Carver had seen her. She had tied in a braid hanging over one shoulder, but the side that wasn't braided looked like parts of it had been shorn off. On any other girl it would've looked stupid. On Merrill, it looked like Merrill.

"Hello, kitten!" Isabela waved down at her, leaning over the railing enough to give the crew notice to what color her smallclothes were.

Aveline shook her head with a disgusted scoff from behind her.

"Aveline!" Merrill said, stepping towards the boat and then stopping as if she'd suddenly remembered there was water between her and the deck.

"Tell Guardsman Lia to gather the rest of the guard and bring them to the dock," Aveline said, while Isabela mimicked her stiff stance so perfectly that even Carver had to fight the urge to laugh.

"A please never hurt anyone," Merrill said.

Aveline stared at her, implacable.

"Neither would a smile," Merrill added and was making to turn around when Wes started barking in earnest. Her ears twitched only slightly and Merrill looked up at the ship excitedly.

When her eyes landed on Carver, he knew that look too. The split-second surprise and disappointment that he wasn't the _other_ Hawke.

Merrill waved. "Carver! Oh and Donnic too. Are Hawke and Fenris with you too?"

" _Merrill_ ," Aveline said.

"Yes, kitten," Isabela added. "At least take a few steps back so we can lower the gangplank."

Merrill followed that order at least, while Aveline muttered to herself about having to do everything herself and was the first one off the boat when the gangplank lowered. Donnic followed behind, but he at least stopped to greet Merrill before she made her way up it.

Merrill hugged Isabela the moment her bare feet hit the wooden deck and the pirate responded with the same enthusiasm. Carver bet if he gave them a few minutes they'd start braiding each other's hair and ignore all the nervous elves behind them.

Wes put a stop to that when he bounded up to Merril and jumped on her--she kept her balance and responded to his slobbering by scratching hard behind his ears. She looked up behind him, but her green eyes slid past Carver and took in the elves taking up most of the deck.

"Elgar'nan, you've expanded the crew so much!"

Isabela laughed. "These are passengers. Fenris liberated them from slavers and even Aveline's massive arms couldn't carry them all."

"It's a shame she's not here to hear you say that," Carver commented.

No one glanced in his direction.

Merrill turned towards the elves and spoke a little in her language, but most of them only looked confused, but one of the older elves responded in kind. A new kind of grace overtook Merrill, probably the training she had before they'd ever run together when she'd been one of those Firsts in her clan.

He couldn't even understand what she was saying and she was still muddling him.

Isabela was giving him a disgustingly smug look and he flipped her a rude gesture moments before Merrill turned back around.

"There's room in the Alienage," she said. "Ironic, really, that it’s the most livable place in Kirkwall since the... well the big explosion."

"To the point," Isabela agreed.

"Is Hawke here?" Merrill asked. Wes had come up to her again, wagging his tail so hard it thumped against the deck with a wooden echo.

"No," Carver said, even if she wasn't asking him. "He's off saving the world from angry Templars and Princes on his own, because the rest of us would only hold him back by _not_ running head first into trouble."

"Oh, that's your brother," Merrill said and the fondness dripped out of her voice like wax from a candle burning at both ends, "always protecting people."

"Even if they don't need protecting," Carver agreed.

"Sweet and sour," Isabela said. "What a match."

"What do you mean?" Merrill asked.

If Garrett was good for something it was teaching the dog certain gestures--Carver made one and Wes jumped excitedly onto Isabela while she yelled in protest and whatever stupid thing the pirate was going to say was cut off by slobber.

"Wes always liked her," Carver said to Merrill.

"I missed something again, didn't I?" was her only reply.

"I will cut parts off you I've only done to the crew that deserved it!" Isabela threatened to the dog.

The old elf said something in elven to Merrill and she turned towards him and nodded with a reply in kind. Then she turned back to Carver and Isabela who was still struggling with Wes's enormous dog frame trying to lick her face and settle all his weight on her.

"I ought to get them to the Alienage. It's such a long trip on this boat and they're all very tired. Please don't leave before I get back," she said and Carver hoped it was a little directed towards him, but didn't answer in case it wasn't.

"We--won't, kitten," Isabela promised, shoving Wes down. "Carver, I swear to Maferath's tiny ghost cock, if this dog doesn't get off me in the next five seconds--"

"Wes," Carver called and whistled low. The mabari hound dropped from Isabela and ran over to him, mouth open and tongue hanging out. Carver patted him on the head. "Good dog," he said and avoided Isabela's glare. "Good dog."

"There'll be itching powder in your smallclothes when you least expect it," Isabela promised once Merrill was off the ship, leading the rest of the elves into the city.

"Stay out of it, Isabela," Carver said.

"Get into it, Carver," Isabela said. "Merrill could use the company and you know you could use a touch other than your own."

"I'll give you a touch."

"Promises, promises," Isabela said, shaking her head.

Carver crossed his arms over his chest. "Is _The Hanged Man_ still standing?"

"Always. Even with a hole where the roof used to be," Isabela said, grinning.

"I probably won't be able to tell the difference," Carver agreed and felt the sudden truce between them. The promise of a drink was always good for that at least.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day Carver had what he hadn't had in months... silence. Aveline and Donnic were too busy getting their cityguard together (something Carver had been very encouraged _not_ to be a part of before he was a Warden and something that felt out of place now that he was) and Merrill was helping all the new elves settle in. Isabela didn't stay too long, but also kept her mouth shut for the most part.

Carver didn't have much to do, no darkspawn in Kirkwall--for once it was one of the safer places to be in Thedas. The Blight had missed it, but the Mage/Templar wars had literally exploded out of it. Hightown was a wreck, mostly deserted except for a few former Darktown residents that didn't have their head turned at a bit of corpse and rubble.

Carver tried opening the door to the Amell estate, but it was more than locked--it was resistant to even bludgeoning, which he'd tried to his shoulder's detriment.

"Magic," he muttered. Wasn't it always?

"Mine," Merrill said.

Carver turned around suddenly, not realizing she'd been behind him.

She smiled. "Sorry. I put a bit of counterspell on it, to keep people out. Hawke told Orana she could stay, but she didn't like having the place all to herself and well, I didn't want it to get ruined with all the rioting and destruction."

"Couldn't have that," Carver agreed.

Merrill didn't pick up on his sarcasm and only nodded. "Do you want me to take it off?"

"The spell?"

"I certainly didn't mean my ears," Merrill said, smiling.

Carver felt a little of his sour mood slip away. "If you wouldn't mind."

"Of course not, it's your house," Merrill said, even if that wasn't exactly true. She spread her long fingers towards the house and the smell of her magic seemed to fill Carver's nose, it smelled like the woods before they'd settled in Lothering where he and Beth used to run laughing from mystery beasts (usually played by Garrett) until they had to be carried back to camp by Father.

The woody smell shifted to a mist of green and a near visible shimmer on the door disappeared with a pop.

"There," Merrill said. "You can enter."

"Can I leave?" Carver asked.

Merrill sighed. "Creators, I always forget _something_."

She pulled her staff off her back this time and held it up in the air, the hairs on the back of Carver's arms rose like they always did when Garrett or Bethany held up their staffs for a spell and then went down to normal when the shimmer shifted.

"I'm glad I asked," Carver said and Merrill sighed again. He approached the door and hesitated before deciding there was nothing to hesitate about and barged in.

"Spells don't work on dust, I see," Carver said, mostly under his breath.

"If they did, I would have set that one on my own house ages ago," Merrill said, leaving tiny foot prints everywhere she stepped. "Aveline said you ran into Varric?"

"More like he ran into me," Carver said, sweeping his hand across the end table in the entry way and watching the cloud of dust lift up into the air. Mother would have had a fit over the state of it. She'd even tried to get Gamlen's piss shack into shape, before giving up as a lost cause.

"He's been keeping the Inquisition away from us," Merrill said. "Or he's looking for a story. His letters are very descriptive of his new friends. I never know to take them seriously or not--it wasn't like his book was very accurate."

"Couldn't have my brother looking like the ponce he is," Carver said, ignoring the bitter irritation at his own footnotes in Varric's little novel. "Wouldn't sell."

"Was he all right?" Merrill asked, almost suddenly. "He doesn't talk about himself so much when he writes and it isn't very safe... well anywhere anymore."

A retort came to mind about how Varric couldn't stack up in height to trouble he grew, but Merrill looked actually concerned so he gave her an honest answer instead. "He seemed fine, in charge of the situation. We didn't talk much, but he didn't look like a prisoner. If anyone can charm himself into the good graces of the Templars, it's him."

Her mouth twisted. "They're calling his new friend the Herald of Andraste."

"Quite a title for an errand boy," Carver said.

Merrill blinked at him, the joke going over her head. "I don't think he runs errands for her."

"It was--" Carver shook his head. "Never mind."

"Did I miss something again?"

"No," Carver said and turned back towards the house. "Do you think my na--Aveline will throw a fit if I stay here? Nothing better to do, might as well fix up the estate I died for."

"You're not dead."

The beckoning call of darkspawn that even the waters couldn't block said otherwise.

"Don't lock me in when you leave," Carver said.

"I could tie it to your blood," Merrill suggested. "It's a simple spell."

Carver turned to look at her a little better. "You're _still_ doing blood magic?"

"It's the safest magic," Merrill said and then turned around suddenly and covered her face her with her hands. "May the Dread Wolf take me. I did not mean that it is safe magic, but that is it is safer to use with the Fade so thin lately, on _yourself_ because then you are creating your own connection.” She didn’t turn around but she dropped her hands from her face. He didn’t know what she was staring at other than the wall. “I know that there are mages that use it wrongly, very wrongly, but there are all types of people, bad people, good people, a plow can be dangerous if it’s used incorrectly."

It took Carver a second, but not as long as it might have if he'd been standing anywhere else. He realized Merrill wasn’t staring at the wall. She was staring at the Amell crest, his mother’s crest, hanging on it… covered in dust. Uncle Gamlen hadn’t told him the details of her death, but the way Garrett couldn’t look at him the next time they spoke said enough with Merrill here the pieces fell into place a bit better.

It didn’t matter what kind of magic killed her. She was still dead.

"Do you mind giving me some time alone?" Carver asked. He suddenly felt the lack of sleep from the last months. Grey Warden stamina didn't hold up to grief. "Been on the road with Aveline and Donnic for long enough without any time to myself."

"I'm sorry," Merrill said, turning back towards him. "I didn't mean to make everything..."

"You didn't," Carver said.

She tilted her head a little when she looked at him and then nodded. "I'll be at the Alienage if you need... well anything to do. There’s plenty to do, especially if you like lifting things."

“My expertise in the Wardens, lifting things.”

Merrill didn’t smile, but she didn’t seem like she’d missed the joke either. She walked out, hitting the same spots she'd walked in, making strange footprints in a screwball sort of path.

Carver looked around the estate once she had gone and took the stairs up to his mother’s room. The door was shut from disuse and it took a good shove or two before it opened. The room was less dusty than the rest of the place, or maybe that was Carver’s imagination or his pure exhaustion as he sat on the edge of Mother’s bed and only lasted long enough to put his sword off his shoulder before gravity took over and he fell into a deep sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

He woke up to dog drool, which was only a slight improvement to screaming darkspawn. Wes grunted in his own sleep full of dog dreams; somehow he'd followed Carver and had settled next to him without Carver noticing. That wasn't good. The windows were shuttered, but there was no light trying to break through so he must've slept for a few hours.

Carver grunted a little as he sat up and rubbed his face and then his hair. The sheets smelled like dust and dog, not Mother. Nothing in here looked like her, even if it hadn't been touched in ages.

That's all it was in the end, dust and memories. That's all he'd be when the Calling finally took him--and the only one to remember him would be Garrett and anyone who read the footnotes in Varric's stupid book.

Wes let out a sleepy whine, probably dream-chasing a nug or vole.

It was stupid to envy a dog, but Carver's head was pounding from the first dreamless sleep he'd had in months. He didn't want to fall back asleep and tempt fate, so he rose to his feet and walked around the estate. He hadn't had time to really poke around when Garrett had been here.

Messere Hawke, Bodhan had called Garrett, which was probably less annoying than Champion. Carver might have an inescapable death and grave responsibility, but at least he hadn't been in Kirkwall while everyone was calling his brother _Champion_.

The dust started to bother Carver enough to miss Gamlen's hovel for the briefest of moments. He had nothing better to do, so he rolled up his sleeves and started cleaning up. It wasn't much different than washing up at the Warden strongholds, pull a chore, and everyone pulled their weight. Every Warden was equal no matter where they came from, he'd even met a few Orlesians that were all right sort.

The soap cleaned off most of the dust and then the water cleaned off the soap. By the time Carver was finished the sun was high enough to come from the windows and the dog was up trotting around and sniffing everything like Carver had done it wrong. 

"If this is all there is to do in Kirkwall, I should have taken Isabela up on her offer," Carver said. Wes cocked his head in inquiry. "Not _that_ offer." He crossed his arms over his chest and the mabari still had his head cocked at him. "She wasn't serious. I don't think. Do you? I mean that's... she's--" He shook his head. "I get enough of Garrett's leftovers."

The mabari whined.

"Yes, I meant you," Carver said.

Wes huffed and turned towards the unlit fireplace, settling down on the mat.

The only thing left Carver had to clean in the estate was his armor and he hadn't worn it in months, seeing it now would prickle the back of his neck like a spell and he'd give in and wear it. He left the mabari with a (likely ignored) order to guard the house and then left.

He found Aveline looking right where she belonged, yelling at her guards and getting things in order. The guards looked like they enjoyed it too, sick bastards. Carver could only stand a half hour of that before he decided to take Merrill up on her offer. Heavy lifting was better than nothing at all.

Maybe he'd get lucky and an ogre would attack. That was the kind of luck Hawkes had after all.

The Alienage started much sooner than it did normally, there were little hovels and shacks spread out from the outside and humans next to elves out talking about their day. Reminded him a little of the camps at Ostagar before things had taken a dark turn.

Merrill waved at him as he got close to her, but she was surrounded by elves who were demanding her attention. Carver found watching this much more entertaining (and novel) than Aveline barking orders. Merrill kept switching back and forth from elven (or elfish?) and was encouraging a couple of elves with staffs to perform small spells. It reminded Carver of when Father used to teach Bethany and Garrett, except less of Garrett icing Beth's staff to the floor when she wasn't looking.

The last lesson Merrill ended up teaching was how to light up the staves stuck around the giant tree in the middle and the younger elves did that with a little guidance before the entire Alienage was lit up in a soft glow that stayed up through the sun setting.

"You must be hungry," Merrill said finally reaching him. "And bored," she added.

"Yes, and no," Carver said, lifting himself up. "Though I was promised heavy things to lift."

"I never break a promise," Merrill said and took him to where a few of the Alienage's residents, human, elf, and one out of place Qunari, were putting together a fire. It was like setting up for a long night in the Deep Roads expedition, Carver finally felt useful as he helped move pots around and got the fire going without any magic. It wasn't much activity, but it was something other than a watch and being attacked by Mages, Templars, or Sebastian's cronies.

"He was always a little funny," Merrill said, her long fingers wrapped around a steaming bowl of stew. "He probably thought the same of me, if I'm being honest. Most people do," she added, sipping at the stew.

"What I don't get," Carver said, resting his own bowl of stew on the edge of his leg, "is why he sent others out to kill my brother. Usually if Garrett pisses someone off enough, they want to get in his face about it."

Then he'd smile and talk a little and suddenly the Champion of bloody Kirkwall was their new best friend.

Merrill shrugged and licked a bit of stew off her lip. "Don't ask me to explain a noble. I understand them less than really religious humans. Sebastian is both. I thought that meant he could help me understand them, but every time we talked I got more confused."

"Poncing attitude and stuck-up moral compass," Carver said. "There's nothing to understand about either of them."

Merrill was laughing. "You sound like your brother."

"Don't insult me, I helped you out," Carver said.

"I wasn't--" Merrill stopped and smiled at him and shaking her head, catching the joke midway through. "I didn't understand you two at first. I thought you didn't get along."

"We don't."

"You do," Merrill said. "You always fight, but you do it together. You're the first to defend him. I was so lonely when I first came here, but Hawke started his own sort of clan." She sighed and stared at her bowl. "I thought he was my only friend. Isn't that wrong? I didn't realize I had Isabela and Varric too."

"And me," Carver said and then quickly covered it by adding, "And Aveline and... well maybe not Fenris."

"No, not Fenris," Merrill said, too seriously before her lips twitched upwards.

"You've got these people too, the elves," Carver said, gesturing with his bowl towards them, all gathered and talking like half the city wasn't broken into pieces.

Merrill bit her lip and tilted her head towards them taking them in. "It was so silly. I lived among them for years and never saw them as my people, or The People. I left my clan, but I still felt Dalish, elvhen, but all those in the city..." She laughed, it sounded inwardly directed. "By the Creators! What I did to them wasn't any better than what my clan did to me."

"Don't ask me for advice," Carver said. "I could explain elfs about as well as you could explain nobles."

"Too late now anyway," Merrill said, in that way of hers that sounded cheerful and sad at the same time. "I've made so many mistakes. I only hope this puts them right a little."

"It's... good to have a purpose," Carver said. His, was miles away and under, waiting for him. "How's your mirror coming along?"

That had been the wrong thing to say, Merrill's lips pursed and she sipped at her stew again before responding. "I've fixed it, but it still won't work. I'm missing something. There's... an elven scholar at Haven I wanted to contact, but they made a deal with the Templars and..."

"You've had enough of that here," Carver said.

Merrill sighed. "Humans come, mages, I don't know if they think Anders would want them to, or if they have nowhere else to go, but they need someone to show them things and I don't want to turn them away. I'm not as good of a teacher as the Keeper was--" There was a slight break in her voice and she cleared her throat to cover it. "I do my best. That's all we can do."

"Do you miss the elves? The Dalish, I mean."

"No," Merrill said. "I miss Isabela and Hawke and Varric. I don't miss my clan. I can't. It hurts too much."

She looked incredibly sad and Carver was sorry he'd brought it up, but then she sighed a laugh and looked up at him. "Here I am, taking all the conversation. You haven't even said how the Wardens are!"

"I'm not supposed to, I think," Carver said, but looking around at the humans, the elves, and the mages, no one probably cared.

"I didn't know it was a secret."

"It's not," Carver said. "Or it shouldn't be." It was what he was proud of, so of course it was hidden. "But with the way things have been, Wardens disappearing, and all of us hearing the Call at once."

"The call?"

"It's a Warden thing," Carver said. Not quickly enough to cover up that he wasn't supposed to tell her that. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone that, but hearing it so early had shaken him and his stupid brother had been there. Carver looked down at his hands, still holding his own bowl of stew that was probably going cold. No pocks or scars or ghoulish paling.

Yet.

"Sounds mysterious," Merrill said.

"Only because no one would join if they knew about it," Carver said and dug into his stew.

"Even you?" Merrill asked.

"I didn't exactly have a choice," Carver said, muffled around a bite of what wasn't too bad for being made in a giant communal elfy pot.

"Because of the taint?" Merrill said, like she was remembering one of Varric's stories. Must have been to her. Garret hadn't taken her down on the expedition, which was good, Carver didn't want her to see him like that.

Carver swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Because of my brother."

Garrett carried Carver when his legs stopped working, all the way to find Stroud and had threatened to literally melt the Warden's balls off he didn't take Carver. Carver didn't regret it most days, but he still wish it had been _his_ choice. Nothing ever seemed to be.

"I've got better stories," Carver added, swirling his spoon around in the bowl, mixing vegetables and meat together. "Ones I can tell..."

"I like a good story," Merrill said, smiling at him.

"I'm not Varric, thank the Maker," Carver added the second part in an undertone that he was said the dwarf wasn't around to hear. "But this one time at camp, my friend Alistair found this entire stockroom of cheese..."


	10. Chapter 10

"Make yourself useful, Carver," Aveline said before throwing a wooden slat at his face.

Carver caught it, thank Warden stamina, but he had no idea how Aveline managed unless she wasn't telling them something. "I'm glad I didn't join the guard if this is how you talk to them."

"You're not one of my men," Aveline said.

They both skirted past the fact that it was Aveline's fault that was the case. It wasn't worth mulling on. "I don't come out here to piss about," Carver said, putting the wood on the pile they were building.

"Good, we need all the help we can get. The Alienage might have been all well and good for a temporary measure, but Kirkwall needs to be really rebuilt."

"I've heard the speech already," Carver said. He had heard it over and over in a muttering undertone for a month since they'd arrived, before she'd finally decided to do something about it.

"How'd you sleep?" Aveline asked.

"Dog drool, screaming terrors from below, the usual," Carver said.

"You're starting to look it," Aveline said, forgetting she was too busy lately to be his nanny. Maybe she wanted to go part time.

"Next time Fenris sends a shipment of slaves, we should send Wes back then," Carver commented, catching and loading another piece of salvageable wood.

"The dog drool isn't the problem, Carver."

"If you've got a cure for the Calling up your armor, I'm all for it," Carver said, sharper than he'd meant. He rubbed his hand over his face and moved onto another wrecked piece of rubbish and started pulling off the molded pieces of wood that they'd have to be rid of.

"Captain," called out Donnic, which would never stop being strange to Carver, even if it seemed old hat for them both.

Aveline turned towards her husband and her lips turned down as she took in his harried expression.

"We only just got word," he said. "Haven's been attacked."

"Damn it," the Guard-Captain said. "Any word from Varric?"

"No," Donnic said. He seemed grave about it. Maybe he was friends with the dwarf too.

Carver didn't know if it was the certainty that the dwarf could talk his way out of anything (much like Garrett, which was no wonder they were thick as literal thieves) or the bone chilling weariness of his months of sleepless nights that made him unconcerned.

"Was it the mages?" Carver asked. It made sense. Some bloke calling himself Andraste's messenger and housing a load of Templars and some weird Inquisition was asking to be a target of crazy mages.

"That's the strange thing," Donnic said. "The reports that came in... They said it was a walking army of red lyrium, mages, demons, and something the survivors couldn't pin down, called him Corypheus."

"Well _shit_ ," Carver said. They both turned towards him, so he offered up an explanation. "Remember when the Carta were attacking my brother? They even started breaking into the Warden barracks."

Aveline shook her head. "I can't keep track of how many and who attacks Hawke. What does this have to do with Haven?"

"It doesn't, or it does," Carver tapped his fingers against his leg. He missed his armor again and all at once, suddenly. "Garrett, his pet elf, Varric, and I went to shut them up, but it was some weird cult, lead by some crazy Tevinter bastard in a death-sleep claiming to be the first darkspawn, but we _killed_ him."

They'd finished what Father had started.

"I think I need more details," Aveline said. "Varric never... he never mentioned it."

"He's fine," Carver said. He had to be, even if that had been one of the hardest fights of Carver's life. Even Garrett didn't have a crack once the thing was dead. Besides Varric was too short to get hit when there were so many taller targets, last Carver heard they'd even gotten some Qunari. "I'll let you in on the details, without any of his bluster and then you can get the version where Garrett floats up on a cloud and zaps the bastard with lightning from the dwarf."

Aveline snorted, relaxed a little and nodded.

Carver told her what he remembered, though Aveline being Aveline, made him go through it a few more times.

"I don't like this," Aveline said. "I'm going to the Gallows. We've had some reports of what sounds like this red lyrium. I don't know if it's connected, but it isn't something that should be left unchecked and I don't want any reason for more trouble in Kirkwall than the usual."

"So I should stay here then, tossing wood?" Carver asked, but he knew the answer.

"It's good work, Carver," Aveline said.

"Right," Carver said. He knew a few other things that were good work too. Grey Wardens killing darkspawn for one. Maybe not quite as good as whatever his brother was up to, but it still had an honor to it more than chores from nanny.


	11. Chapter 11

Unsurprisingly, Aveline received a letter from Varric less than a week later letting her know all was well. There wasn't anything for Carver (because when did the dwarf ever ask about him?) even if there was a bit of news he did want to know about--like Alistair and Garrett on their own little secret mission with this Inquisition that was _about_ something that involved both Hawkes and Wardens and no one had thought that maybe Carver would be good for it when he was both.

Aveline wrote back quickly, the raven waiting for the return letter strangely impatient, as it clicked its little claws on the wooden frame of the window.

"He wants to know if you want to send any word to Hawke," Aveline said, not looking up from the parchment as her pen wrote in harried scratches about the red lyrium that had been more than they'd expected in the Gallows.

"How about, 'bugger off'?" Carver suggested.

Aveline sighed. "Carver..."

"You're right," Carver said. "Fuck off is a little more to the point."

"Carver!"

"No," Carver said, not balking at the sight of nanny irritated. "You can tell him that or nothing. He doesn't get reassurance that I'm all well and good being babysat, while he's out doing _my_ job. The Wardens need me and I'm here. It's... it's..."

"It's where you need to be," Aveline said, calmer than he expected. "At least right now."

"I can't stay here forever," Carver said. "If there's something on with the Wardens, I won't leave my brothers on their own, because my other brother says so."

"I know, Carver," Aveline said. The tips of her fingers were covered in ink. "I understand, I do, but I made a promise to Hawke."

"Well, I didn't," Carver said and walked out of her office. She didn't go after him, probably scratching some lie about how Carver was fine into the letter to keep Garrett satisfied. He didn't deserve it.

Bastard. Fucking bastard. It wasn't enough that he had to take every other opportunity from Carver, but the only thing that was his, what he'd died for--he had to take that too?

His head was pounding. He was drenched in sweat and didn't realize how far he'd walked until he was standing at the docks, his boots leaning over the edge so far he had to rock back on his feet to get his balance back and not fall over the edge. That was the way to the Deep Roads, but he'd need a boat to get there.

Garrett could want it to be wrong all he wanted, but maybe the Wardens were all hearing the Calling, because it was time for them to stop. Maybe they were going to meet it together and finally stop the Blights once and for all.

That didn't seem so bad. It seemed like maybe he'd finally get some sleep. Even see Bethany again.

"Carver?"

Carver sighed and did not hang his head. "Merrill."

"Are you all right?" she asked, and then without waiting for him to turn around moved next to him and put a hand on his arm. "Varric wrote me. I was going to tell you, but you walked off so quickly."

He hadn't even heard her. Hell, he hadn't heard anything except darkspawn screams and voices that sounded twisted with the taint.

"The dwarf writes everyone it seems." Everyone except him.

"He says Hawke's fine," Merrill said.

"Of course he is," Carver spat. He said it so angrily, Merrill dropped her hand and took a slight step back. "Sorry," he said and rubbed a hand over his face. "You caught me at a bad time."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Merrill asked. "I've got good ears. All elves do."

She was making a joke. It was too nice of her at the moment. Carver wanted someone to argue with, something to fight, Merrill wasn't that.

"I don't... know if I'll be able to explain it."

"You can try," Merrill said, like that was an answer. She settled down on the edge of the dock, her bare feet swinging over the edge, barely skimming the water.

Carver sighed again and sat down next to her, keeping his feet lifted as they'd absolutely sink in. The last thing he needed was soaking wet boots.

"My brother has single-handedly volunteered to take on all responsibility of being both a Hawke and a Grey Warden, even when he has a brother who is both." Carver glared out at the horizon and the rippling water. "I'm not a child. I haven't been since Beth--I haven't been for a while. I was at Ostagar. I looked out for our family. It wasn't _all_ Garrett like that bloody dwarf goes on about. Aveline's nannying me, because my brother asked her to. I've been pretending I'm not a Warden for over a year, because it keeps me out of trouble I should be in--where does he get off treating me like I'm stupid or don't know better? I might not be a mage, but I can take care of myself."

"Knowing your brother it wouldn't matter if you were a mage," Merrill said, kindly.

"I knew you wouldn't understand," Carver said, before he could catch himself. It was always Garrett at the forefront of everyone's mind. Even Bethany, even Mother. Father too when it came to it, it wasn't Carver who had walked out of that Carta cult's trap with the Key to the Hawke's blood even if he had the Hawke blood running through his veins all the same.

"I understand," Merrill said, less kindly. "I know what it's like when people try to protect you and only make things worse. Not that I think Hawke is doing that--" She cut herself off and shook her head. "No, no, well, I don't know, but I do know what it's like. The Keeper--she _refused_ to let me make my own path. She sacrificed herself rather than believe I could handle myself. Maybe it wouldn't have worked out, but I knew that going in. I knew that it was dangerous and that doesn't mean I didn't deserve to take the risk myself. She--" Merrill wasn't crying exactly, but her big green eyes were shinier than normal. "She loved me, but she let her pride blind her, pretended it was for my sake, and it killed my whole clan. I never wanted that."

The only noise for the next few minutes was the waves slowly whapping the sides of the docks.

"I hear darkspawn," Carver said, suddenly feeling like he needed to tell her. "It's part of being a Warden. I hear the archdemons, the darkspawn, every nasty beastie underneath the Deep Roads. I hear them and I'm not supposed to until I'm on my way out. When my time is up and I'm to meet my death or turn into... a ghoul or something worse."

"No wonder they don't tell people," Merrill said. It sounded like she'd blurted it too.

They met eyes for a short moment and then Carver started laughing the same moment Merrill did.

"My dreams are quite normal," Merrill said, wiping underneath her eye. "Except that one about the giant nug wearing armor. Much less darkspawn, at least."

"It's not usually so bad," Carver said. "It's been bearable until all this... whatever it was that happened started it." He frowned. "Maybe it is Corypheus. He could do something to control the Wardens. Maybe that's it."

If that was what it was, that was all the more reason for Carver to be in on it. Unless his brother thought Alistair could handle it when Carver couldn't.

"You don't seem controlled," Merrill said. "Maybe a little grumpier than normal."

Carver snorted. "It's the lack of sleep and impending ghouldom, tends to sour my mood."

"There must be a way around it," Merrill said, her lips twisted a little, like she did when she was trying to figure out that mirror of hers.

"There isn't," Carver said. "It's the price of being a Warden and it's not a price I mind paying, as long as I'm _being_ a Warden and not...whatever I'm doing now."

"You're helping!" Merrill said. "The Alienage is so crowded and people have been going back to their homes since Aveline started rebuilding--wouldn't mind a little help in the Alienage with the rebuilding, Elgar'nan, especially that blasted hole in my roof."

"I could fix that," Carver said. He didn't know she had a hole in her roof. "Would rather avoid the nanny for a while."

"The nanny?"

"Aveline," Carver corrected himself. "I've... well I've been calling her that in my head mostly."

"Good idea, she'd turn a terrible red color if you said it to her face."

Carver stared at Merrill for a second trying to figure if she was making a joke or not. She blinked at him maybe a little too innocently.

"I'm starting to figure you out, I think."

"I hope so," Merrill said. "We've been friends too long for you to get confused."

"I... I mean we..." Carver fumbled over the words, realizing how close he was to her, but it wasn't right to do anything about it (even if he could find a way) with his Calling so close to his head. "Your roof," he said. "Fixing it."

"Yes," Merrill said. "And maybe I can find a spell to help you sleep without dreams. There's got to be something..." She looked sideways at him. "I might have nicked Anders's grimoire."

"That doesn't sound like a good idea."

"It's mostly medicine and a few dirty bits," Merrill said. "Or I think they're dirty bits, I can't read all of the Teveniter parts but there are some sketches in the margins."

"I really don't want to think about the mage's dirty bits," Carver said.

"I don't think they're _his_ ," Merrill said and then giggled as if she suddenly did. Then she sighed and stared out at the water for a long moment before lifting herself up in one graceful maneuver. "Roof?"

"Roof," Carver agreed and got to his feet much less gracefully, though Merrill didn't comment on it.


	12. Chapter 12

"Did it work?" Merrill asked, like she always asked every morning after Carver had tried a poultice, a potion, or a spell to get some darkspawn free sleep.

"Almost," Carver lied, like he did every morning. He'd woken up seven times during the night before giving up.

"I'll get it right," Merrill said. "There has to be a step I'm missing."

If the Warden mages couldn't figure it out, Carver wasn't sure Merrill was going to be able to, but it felt nice that she was trying.

"It's less fussy than the Eluvian," Merrill said, mostly to herself.

"I'm an it now?" Carver asked, smiling so that when Merrill looked at him she'd know he was joking.

She smiled back and shrugged. "I can't tell you humans apart."

"I'll get my ears stretched," Carver promised.

"You'd still be dreadfully tall," Merrill said with a sad shake of her head.

Carver laughed, but before he could retort the familiar whistle of an arrow alerted him to danger moments before it hit one of the roofs.

"What was that?" Merrill was asking, but Carver was already climbing up one of the barricades to get a look around the houses to see where it had come from.

There was an archer in the distance, already running off--he looked like one of the men that had attacked them back in Ferelden. One of the Starkhaven bastards. Carver couldn't see anything on the arrow or any other archers, so he tried climbing up one of the slats to grab the arrow, but a green vine of magical energy snatched it instead and when he climbed down Merrill had the arrow in one hand and a note in the other.

"Oh dear," she said.

"What?" Carver asked and leaned in and over her to read over her shoulder. He was upwind of her from this angle. She smelled good, maybe not specifically elfy, but good like the brambles when they camped outside the entrances to the Deep Roads.

Carver clenched his fist to focus and read the note. It was poncy scrawl.

_By the order of Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven, Kirkwall is to give over wardship of its disturbed and disavowed state. The atrocious crime of blowing up the chantry is in direct violation of the Faith and the death of the Grand Cleric, along with countless innocent victims was a direct result of the actions of the so-called Champion of Kirkwall._

_Give over the protection, wardship, and see to justice, Kirkwall._

_Do not fall to the false leadership of one so close to the murderous mage Anders; Aveline Hendyr._

_Surrender, or submit to war._

"Aveline isn't going to like this," Carver said.

"I don't like this either," Merrill said. "Why does Sebastian want Kirkwall?"

"Revenge, power, needs a new broken Tevinter slave statue? Who knows with nobles?" Carver took the note and arrow from her, examining the tip. It could've hit someone other than a roof. The idea of it hitting Merrill made him angry.

"He used to be reasonable," Merrill insisted.

"You said strange," Carver retorted.

"I said strange to _me_ , that doesn't mean much. A lot of things are strange to me."

"He's strange to everyone now," Carver said, holding up the letter. "Or at the least, dangerous."

Merrill frowned and nodded and they went to find Aveline. She was, without surprise, unhappy. It was a quieter anger than Carver was used to, if that's what it was.

Aveline put the letter back down on her desk and smoothed out the edges.

"I've already asked the Inquisition for help with this red lyrium growing in the Gallows," Aveline said. "Cullen told us to bar it off and they'd get to it when they could--but they have other difficulties, I doubt a threat from Starkhaven goes any higher. Cullen doesn't seem to have loyalty to the Templars any more than he does Kirkwall."

"If you don't ask them, Sebastian might," Donnic said.

"It sounds like they're making alliances," Carver agreed. "Your last dwarf letter said they were trying to make good on the Warden Treaties." What made Warden Blackwall and Alistair so special that they could cozy up with the Inquisition and not have to stick in hiding, probably only had to do with not being Garrett Hawke's brother.

"The way this Inquisition has grown since the attack on Haven..." Aveline shook her head. "Asking them could be inviting another conquering into Kirkwall. I won't have that."

"Cullen was a good sort," Merrill said. "From what I remember. He helped us out after the Knight-Commander..."

"Went completely insane and turned into a creepy red monster?" Carver offered.

"Shit," Aveline said, out of character. "The red lyrium in the Gallows. It's on the exact spot she turned."

"Red Lyrium or Redhead, which is the bigger problem?" Carver mused.

Aveline held her hand up and they all silenced, for some reason. Must be the pinched expression she had on her face while she was thinking.

"Did you see which direction the archer went?"

"Looks like he was headed to Sundermount."

Aveline flicked her eyes back and forth between Merrill and Carver. "We need to find where he's headed, see if there's any resources set up outside. I'll petition the Inquisition and Cullen in particular, but we may not have that much time if Sebastian is serious."

"He was always serious," Merrill said.

Aveline sighed.

"I can scout," Carver said. He was already imagining putting his real armor back on and trying not to show the rush of relief and excitement that made him feel.

"I don't know, Carver."

"I can't fight in this war," Carver said. "Wardens have no alliances."

Except when they fought side-by-side with family, but that wouldn't make his point _or_ get him out of the city.

"Let me do something useful," Carver said. "Scouting is easy. I've done it on darkspawn, I can do it on some Starkhaven bastard."

"They likely smell better," Merrill said. "Though that might make the tracking a bit harder? Do you track by smell?"

"Merrill," Aveline said, "would you be willing to go as well? You know the mountain better. I need to prep the Guard."

"Oh," Merrill said. She quieted a little, in movement and in speech. Then she smiled, but it was strained. "Of course. Anything to help."

"Thank you, Merrill," Aveline said, but then her eyes drifted angrily back to the letter. "I should write now, send another raven to Varric."

"I'll help, love," Donnic said quietly, which sounded a lot less stranger than 'Captain' at least to Carver.

"I'll meet you--I need to pick up a few things," Merrill said, walking outside more quickly than he would have assumed with shorter legs than him. "I'll meet you at the docks."

"All right," Carver said, but that was all he got before she was off in the direction of the Alienage.

He frowned at her back, wondering what that was about, but turned his focus to getting back to the estate. His armor was in good condition, but it needed a few things adjusted before he put it back on. The griffon on the center on his chest was still a little dented from that fight in the marshes with the Hurlocks where they'd gotten the upper hand after two days of fighting hard.

He felt taller wearing the armor. He felt right. And Carver knew he wasn't ever taking it off again, Aveline's promise to his brother or not.


	13. Chapter 13

"This isn't the first time you've been back here, is it?" Carver asked Merrill once almost an hour of one-sided conversation had passed.

"No," Merrill said quietly. "The last time I came here was to give them proper burial, so they could lie with our ancestors."

"We went around here enough before--" Carver gestured to his Warden armor. "--So I can get on myself if you need."

"It's all right," Merrill said with another forced smile. "I don't mind. Dalish are supposed to be on the move, but I've been in Kirkwall for ages, it's good for me to at least stretch my legs outside the Alienage."

"Hopefully, you don't have to stretch your staff," Carver said.

Merrill didn't reply with more than a half-nod. He bet if he was Garrett, she would have laughed at that.

They found a few signs of the campsites the archer had set up, but not signs of there being more than him on his own. Carver could see that he'd been watching Kirkwall for days before he'd finally loosed the arrow. It was strange behavior, even if he'd been darkspawn. Maybe the archer had been scouting defenses, Carver wondered how far into Kirkwall he'd gotten before he'd made himself known.

Hours passed before it was too late to make their way back in the dark. Merrill found a place for them to camp that wasn't near where the Dalish camp used to be (where there were only a few remnants of a settlement that could have been months or decades old) and finally talked to him with more than an unsettled commented or agreement about the task.

"You're not going to sleep in your armor are you?"

"Are you asking me out of it?" Carver asked before he thought about it. Once it was out, it sounded very smooth.

Merrill didn't seem to get it, for whatever that luck was worth. "It's so stiff and uncomfortable looking, you won't get much rest that way."

"I won't get much rest any way," Carver said with an armored shrug.

"None of what I've tried has worked, has it?" Merrill said, looking uncomfortably sad in a way that had been building since they'd hiked up here. This place for her was probably what it would have been like if Carver had hiked to where Bethany had died or back through the wreckage of blighted Lothering (which he was glad they'd avoided).

"No," Carver said. "I don't think anything can fix it, except..."

The silence felt like the chasm he was headed towards, but the words didn't fit in his mouth.

"That's terrible, Carver," Merrill said. For once the sympathy didn't feel insulting.

It felt a little like a relief.

"It's all right," Carver said, aware that now he was the one pushing the false cheer. "My brother's trying to fix it, right? He can fix anything."

"Yes," Merrill said, but she sounded so quiet and sad Carver knew that had been the wrong thing to say. "He usually can."

"We should get some rest," Carver said. "Your watch spell will hold, right?"

"Should do," Merrill said, turning away from him and finishing setting up her bedroll. She fell asleep curled on her side, like a little ball.

Carver wanted to do a lot of things, most of them involved touching the tense part of her spine and trying to get her to relax a bit, but he wasn't one to talk about sleeping well.

He laid down in his armor, like he'd done a thousand times before, and kept his hand on his sword. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep.

 

 

"Carver," Merrill's voice woke him up, but once he was up he felt out of breath and his throat was raw.

"You were screaming," she said, she looked a little afraid. "Is it always like that?"

"No," Carver lied, but he wasn't lying. He felt like a pressure was on his chest, an Archdemon--or maybe not, but some type of demon or darkspawn was pushing down on his armor until it snapped in half, whispering hopelessness and telling him things he'd thought before...

That he was better off dying with Bethany. That he was already dead, walking. That not even Garrett would notice if he was gone, so why not take the leap already?

It was a blighted nightmare, both literally and figuratively.

"Did I scare you?" Carver asked, sitting up a little and rubbing his hand over his face. It was darker out, but no moon had risen to give him a good idea of how long he'd slept.

"You sounded like you were scared," Merrill said, quietly.

"Great," Carver scoffed. Fantastic showing. He was really impressing her. Maybe tomorrow night he'd piss himself.

"Can I try--there's another spell," Merrill said. "It's not... it wasn't in Anders books. I forgot about it until we were here. The Keeper used it when I was younger, to soothe us to sleep."

He didn't want magic poking around his head, but he wanted Merrill to stop looking so startled, so he shrugged and pretended this was typical. "All right then."

"Lie back again?" Merrill asked and then moved when he did so. She sat down near his head and then reached her fingers out to his temple. Her long fingers were colder than he expected and this close again, Carver thought maybe she smelled a little like after it rained really hard in better places. That smell intensified a little as Merrill started to... hum.

"Mind me," she apologized, "I'm a bit tone deaf." She kept humming and then once she seemed to catch a tune she was looking for, she started to sing too.

For the first time since coming to Kirkwall, Carver was reminded of his mother. Merrill didn't sound like her and Mother had never sang in elfish, but singing softly while Carver felt his eyelids feeling heavier and heavier and the coolness of Merrill's fingers on his skin starting to warm pleasantly, made him think of the few places they'd all been safe--with Bethany in bed next to him and Mother in between. With Father by the door frame, smiling and Garrett pretending not to listen from the other bed.

Carver felt safe.

It wasn't until he woke up in the morning that he realized he hadn't had a single nightmare.


	14. Chapter 14

Carver and Merrill checked for any other signs of the archer or Starkhaven troops, but for the moment it looked like Kirkwall was safe.

"We don't have to head back just yet," Carver said, when it looked like it was going to be a good day. It helped that the longer they stayed out here, the longer he was here with Merrill in his armor and not in Kirkwall hiding behind nanny's pauldrons.

"I think we do," Merrill said. "If Aveline doesn't hear back from us, she'll think we're dead or worse."

"There's worse than dead?" Carver asked, before he realized what a stupid question that was. Of course there was worse. He was about to live it if this _wasn't_ a trick after all.

"It's a nice day is all I meant," Carver added, covering himself.

"It is," Merrill agreed. She seemed better than yesterday, lighter now that they were on their way back, maybe since she wasn't so close to where her clan had lived. "You seem cheerier," she said, smiling.

"Good night's sleep will do that," Carver said. He felt ages better. "Thanks for that," he added. "I don't suppose I could get you to do that every night? Not that, I'm implying that it'd be--I just meant--oh blighting hell."

Merrill giggled. It was like she was doing it on purpose. He was about to tell her so, but then she turned suddenly and let out a sharp, delighted gasp. "Oh, look!"

There was a singing pair of birds flying around a nest atop one of the trees covering their exit. It had a crest of feathers that looked like a black cap. They could have been dipped in gold for how happy Merrill looked seeing them.

"Too bad there's no blackberries," Carver commented.

"What?" Merrill asked, slightly distracted by the sight.

"Those were the things you missed, right? From Ferelden?"

Merrill drew her gaze away from the birds and turned to Carver with those big and suddenly examining green eyes of hers. "You remembered that?"

"Sure," Carver said, feeling like his neck was a little hotter than it should have been. She really did still muddle him. "We pass by them--the blackberries, I mean--sometimes on the way to the Deep Roads. It's familiar. Not as many Ferelden Wardens, but I've made a friend of one or two of them." Or more exactly, one.

"That's... very sweet, Carver," Merrill said. She was biting her lip and turned away for a second, smiling. "I blather a lot, so it's a good sort of memory you have, anyway. Must be very useful."

"When I remember the nice things," Carver agreed.

He felt the moment in the air, like a pause in a storm before the rain started up again, but he didn't do anything about it. He should have, he realized, even during the moment. He should have taken a step forward and kissed her or something, but it was too nice a day to ruin it, so Merrill and he walked back, talking of Wardens and blackberries until they reached Kirkwall again.

"Merrill," Carver said, once they were back on familiar footing, "would you-- _The Hanged Man_ is still open, I was wondering if you'd want a drink?"

"I haven't had a good experience drinking there," Merrill said, wryly, "though I suppose there isn't much choice now, not that there ever was when it came to Varric and your brother... and Isabela, goodness, did anyone drink anywhere else?"

"Is that a yes?" Carver asked.

Merrill turned towards him, attention refocused and smiled up at him. "Yes."

"Good," Carver said, strangely winded. He cleared his throat and then another moment appeared, on the wings of the last one. His moment. Merrill had said yes to a drink, so now he'd--

"That's one of Varric's, I think," Merrill said, pointing up at the air. His eyes followed her finger.

The raven swept through Kirkwall, cawing and intent on finding its target. It got closer once it spotted them and then landed on a nearby fence post that no longer had a house attached. Carver tried not to show his annoyance by shoving at the thing, but waited until Merrill approached it and then the bird skipped back a few steps and cawed angrily at Carver.

"I think it’s yours," Merrill said.

Carver frowned and approached the bird, who lifted its leg for Carver to take its message. "The dwarf never writes me, figures he'd pick the perfect time to interrupt, short hairy bastard," Carver muttered under his breath. Sure enough 'Carver Hawke' was written on the seal underneath the Tethras sigil.

Carver broke it open and the raven flew off, not waiting for a response. Stupid birds.

After reading the first few lines, Carver realized he wouldn't have a response. He barely had words. His hands almost tore through the paper as he roved over the inked staining of quickly scribbled _nonsense_ about the Warden stronghold of Adamant and a demon in the Fade, then back up again to the important part--the dwarf was never one to lack in words, but his usual brilliance in spinning a tale was missing. There was no joke, no quick turnaround.

There were only simple words and the only reason Varric would ever write to Carver.

The letter crumpled in his hand as he lashed out at the nearest thing, kicking fruitlessly at the fence post until it finally came loose from the bits of browned grass it was shoved between. The clump of dirt splattered across the broken pieces of stone that was once a path to what was once a house that probably once housed a family. Carver breathed out in angry, bitter gulps of air that weren't to turn to anything else.

"Carver?" Merrill asked, so quietly he almost didn't hear her over the sound of the pounding in his head and the choking breaths as he kicked the fence post again.

"My brother is dead," Carver said, the words their own sense of finality.

Garrett always had to beat him to everything.


	15. Chapter 15

Carver stayed away from the estate. Now all it felt like was a tomb. There were still houses empty (not as many, because of all the Darktown squatters and the people rebuilding, but some) so Carver found one empty and shut everyone else out for days.

After a day or two of not sleeping, even though it felt like he could, Carver slept for a day straight. Aveline tried to nanny him up but he didn't even have the energy to tell her off. Normal Warden dreams awaited him. The simmering nightmarish darkspawn, but none calling him to the depths of their abyss with any real authority.

Whatever Garrett had done, he'd fixed it. Man of his word, Carver's brother. Man of too many words.

The second time Carver woke up from a dragged, tired, exhausting sort of sleep, Wes was tucked underneath his arm, whimpering. Carver let him, too tired to do anything but fall back asleep.

Merrill came to see him once, but he hadn't wanted to see her. He couldn't stand hearing her cry over Garrett, at least Aveline put up a hard front. A stiff uppper lip was all he could take at the moment. His grief was his own, all his, he couldn't share it, but of course he'd have to--because _everyone_ loved his brother. The only time Carver got up and left the house was to make sure someone had sent a letter off to wherever Gamlen was held up. Somewhere with his bastard daughter, apparently. Carver didn't even know he had a cousin--the taste of unfamiliar family after losing all of them was unwelcome.

Carver lived in a world of numb grey, until on what he'd thought was the fifth day, but was actually the fourth; Alistair arrived.

The awkward silence was familiar, but the other Warden had a look on his face that Carver instantly guessed.

"I know already," Carver said.

Alistair breathed out. "Zevran was right. Crows are faster than Wardens."

"It was a raven."

"Black bird, flies fast, carries things, same general idea."

There was that awkward silence again. Carver wasn't sure how to fill it or even if he wanted to.

"Are you headed back to the Inquisition?" he asked. Seemed out of place, but his mouth worked on its own.

"No, they banished us," Alistair said with an unconcerned shrug. "Maybe for the best. Corypheus could still have an influencing nature even if the Nightmare Demon is slain."

And stupid Carver thought it was Merrill and her spell that silenced the screaming in his dreams.

"Either way," Alistair continued. "Not my decision to make. I don't know if I like this Inquisitor, or dislike him really, but I do like not having to make these types of decisions."

"Better to deal with simple things like how to kill the darkspawn in front of you," Carver agreed with a dry sounding snort.

Alistair chuckled too and then the awkward silence descended again.

"Brilliant man, your brother," Alistair said after a moment. "Saved my life."

Carver wasn't looking at him. There was a crack in the support beam lifting up the ceiling. It probably needed to be mended, but by this point, it might've been past mending.

"Of course he did."

Alistair shifted on his feet, Carver heard the shuffling noise against the dusty wood. "Said it was... his responsibility to defeat Corypheus."

"Of course he did."

"Those weren't his... did you want to hear his last words?" Alistair asked. "I never know with these things. I've never known with these things, usually no one to give the news to except other Wardens."

Carver didn't turn his head from the cracked beam, but he nodded once, stiffly.

"He said, 'Always with the Maker damned spiders.'"

"Of course he did," Carver said once again and then let out a laugh that sounded more cracked than the wooden beam. He rubbed his hand over his face and then laughed again, until his throat was sore and he was coughing. "Bastard," he said and then dropped his hand.

"Did you want to do anything for him?" Alistair asked.

He'd been there when they'd held vigil for Mother; for all Carver knew it was Alistair's idea.

"No," Carver said. "They're--the people here are probably doing something. I don't. I don't know what he'd want."

"Knowing your brother?" Alistair said. "Likely the same as me, good stories talking him up and plenty of food and drink."

"Where are the Wardens going?" Carver asked, mostly to avoid the idea that the Warden who was supposed to be _his_ friend, might have known _his_ brother better.

"Weisshaupt," Alistair said. "You're welcome to come, or stay here until the Herald of Andraste waves his hand and sends Corypheus to timeout in the Black Gate--or something of that nature."

"I should go where the Wardens are."

"The Wardens are everywhere," Alistair said with a sigh. He scratched the side of his neck. "I still haven't heard from Tabris--or should I keep calling her the Hero of Ferelden? The woman hates that but it seems as if long titles are the trend."

Carver had been so certain that all he wanted to do was go back to the Wardens where he knew his place, but now all he wanted to do was go find Corypheus and punch his ugly face in.

"I thought you said they'd been exiled?"

"Yes, but those that _agreed_ to it," Alistair said. "The law of Skyhold and the Inquisition only stands as long as there's no Divine and they have enough support from Orlais. Even with that, Grey Wardens have rights to act beyond, especially if there's another blight... which there isn't?"

"You stopped hearing the Calling."

"Right when--when your brother faced the Nightmare Demon," Alistair finished and nodded. "Either way, there might still be Wardens out there. The Herald has one at his camp, I hear! Banishment must be _randomized_ or it's no fun. Most of us are headed to Weisshaupt--I suppose someone should round up the rest, but I did mention I am very happy not to make those types of decisions."

Carver's brain didn't go much beyond processing wanting to sleep again and wondering if the dog had been keeping fed on his own.

"I'll go," Carver said. It was the only thing to do. It had always been. "It's my duty. I won't abandon it."

Alistair understood. Aveline pretended to and Carver didn't give anyone else notice. He was afraid if he talked to Merrill, he might do something stupid like stay in Kirkwall and he really didn't want to see her cry again, or worse see her swallow it and give him sympathy.

Carver wanted to be a Grey Warden again. He wanted to be his own man, because at the moment being Garrett Hawke's younger brother was the worst thing in the world to be.


	16. Chapter 16

Carver had never been to Weisshaupt before, which suited him fine. He had been to Vigil's Keep and Ansburg before, but not a Warden stronghold so old and so close to Tevinter. He wondered, vaguely if he'd run into Fenris near here, killing slavers. The elf had to know by now as well, Varric had probably written him first. Carver tried and failed to muster much sympathy for Garrett's whatever he was, but only felt an echo of jealousy that at least he had sort of gotten to say goodbye.

Mostly Carver wondered how so long dead griffons could still stink up their empty stables worse than Wes stank up the bed. Every time he passed the smell of ochre and dead meat seemed to waft through and cling to his clothes. He was told he was imagining it, but Carver didn't think he was. There was a joke about petrified griffon shit on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't find the energy to be the funny Hawke by default.

There was a small chantry, but Carver couldn't find any faith left if he'd ever had any. What world was he supposed to believe in where the Maker and His Bride left Carver as the last Hawke living?

It was a month before he'd heard of Starkhaven's attack on Kirkwall. Carver started nattering between trips to the Deep Roads and whatever other nervous task the Wardens kept at while the bigger threat lay on the other side of Thedas. He still barely got word of anything, until the day Merrill arrived.

"Oh good," Merrill said once she was in speaking distance of him, a sharp undertone to her usual cheer. "You are alive."

"Merrill--"

"You didn't answer one letter," she said. He'd never seen her angry before, he realized now that she was suddenly in front of him fuming.

That might have been why he couldn't think of a better response than, "You wrote me?"

Merrill blinked at him and then crossed her legs so that her left foot was a bit behind her right and she was standing up on her toes more than her heels. "You didn't get my letters? Or Aveline's?"

"No," Carver said and then realized why. "I haven't... I mean, I haven't checked."

He'd been watching out for word, but never thought he'd have anyone writing to him now that Garrett was...

"I had a very good rant to play out," Merrill said, falling back on her heels, the anger but not all the frustration leaving the smooth planes of her tatooed face. "Now, I think you're a bit dim, not quite so rude." She folded her hands under her chest and sighed. "A bit rude. You never said goodbye."

"I'm not good at them," Carver said honestly. He was still a little rattled that she'd come all the way here. "How did you get here?"

Merrill looked at him strangely. "I came with Isabela."

"You didn't evacuate, did you?" Carver asked.

"The boat?"

"Kirkwall," Carver said. "Last I heard, Starkhaven attacked."

"They did," Merrill said. She looked confused and something else (not that Carver could guess what), suddenly she started playing with the ends of her braid. "It's a long story, I wrote some of it out when I wrote you."

"I could pick up the letters now," Carver offered, but when that didn't get her to look up from her hair, he amended, "or I could show you around while you fill me in?"

"All right," Merrill said. They walked silently for a bit, Carver worried about her bare feet, but she seemed to have no more problem walking on the cool stone than she did with the dirty floor of the stables.

"So Kirkwall wasn't taken over then?"

"No," Merrill said, frowning in thought. "The Inquisition sent a few troops to help with the red lyrium in the Gallows, but they refused to take sides in the battle. Aveline held Sebastian back, but it was still... it's so useless, all the death for nothing. I'm glad they sorted it, but they should have done so sooner."

"Sorted it?"

Merrill looked up at him and then shook her head. "You don't know that either... Fenris freed more elves and a few humans, but he came with them this time." She looked ahead at nothing in particular. "I think maybe he didn't want to be alone."

The reason was unsaid, thankfully. Carver didn't want to think about it, but Garrett Hawke left a huge space in that silence. Enough that Merrill wiped her eye and started again, her voice a little snuffly.

"Fenris went to talk to Sebastian, with Aveline. I wasn't there, but Sebastian seems to have calmed down, maybe because he and Fenris were friends or maybe because--"

"Because the person he was throwing the violent fit over is dead," Carver finished for her.

Merrill looked like she might cry again and Carver hated himself for saying it... but also he didn't.

"Either way," Merrill said, a little choked. "It's been sorted."

"Bastard," Carver said. "My brother saved his preachy ass too many times to count, but he attacks _him_ and the city he was champion of and that’s fair and honorable and worth a sit-down and not a punch in the jaw at the least? After he put everyone in Kirkwall in danger, but it’s all right because Garrett’s dead?" He swallowed hard and clenched his fists, turning in the direction of the griffon stables.

Merrill followed. "Everyone's fine," Merrill said quietly. "Aveline and Isabela, even Fenris. Varric's still up in Skyhold, but he writes. Came out with a new dirty book that sent Aveline into a very funny state. It was a nice distraction."

"Life always moves on," Carver agreed, bitterly.

"Hawke wouldn't have wanted you to--"

"Who in the bloody hell cares what my brother would or would not have wanted me to do?" Carver snapped. "If I _hadn't_ done what he wanted me to do, then I would have been there to watch his back and he wouldn't have been eaten by some fucking spider demon in another plane of magey existence. He's supposed to keep on like Varric's blighted books. He's supposed to--"

He stopped, because he wasn't yelling any more. He was muffling a choked angry sob in his fist that made him even angrier.

Merrill watched him, examining him like she'd done with her mirror, from every angle with intent.

"He's supposed to live," Carver finally said, rubbing angrily at his face. "Garrett was supposed to be the one that went on. Not me."

"You can't trade your life for his," Merrill said, very quietly. "That isn't right. Hawke died a hero."

"He died alone," Carver said, the words tearing out of his throat. "We can't even bury him."

"He killed the demon," Merrill said, "or at least weakened it. It was..." Her voice cracked again. "It was always like your brother, Hawke would go out like that. It was--"

"I don't want to talk about this," Carver said, suddenly. He knew it was hard for her, but he couldn't comfort Merrill about this, not when his guts were turning to fire and bile over the loss that shouldn't have happened.

Carver always failed to protect his family and now he was all that was left.

"Are these the griffon stables?" Merrill asked. She was wiping her face again and hugging her free arm around herself.

He wished he could put a hand on her shoulder or something... he was sure Garrett would know just what to say or do no matter the situation. It was...

"Yes," Carver said. "They stink, even though the things have been extinct for ages."

"I thought, maybe, there'd be at least one griffon here," Merrill said, sounding of all things disappointed.

Carver blinked at her. "Looking for a pet?" He almost offered the dog.

"If they had a spare, maybe one of the babies," Merrill said. She paused for a moment and then added, while glancing back at him, "I'd name him 'Feathers'."

"You've put some thought into this."

Merrill gave him a weak smile. "Only a little."

He showed her the stables in more detail and watched with a casual interest as Merrill talked out loud what she supposed the griffons did and where they slept and how much balance you'd need to ride one. The rest of the tour was a little boring in comparison, a lot of Warden history, but most of it in dusty books and stone walls.

"Where is Isabela?" Carver asked finally.

"Picking up some cargo," Merrill said. "She started doing more business near Tevinter so all those former slaves Fenris has freed don't have to travel as far." Merrill sighed. "Neither of them _say_ as much, but I can’t think of any other reason they’d switch all around like that. I think too many people spend too much time not saying what they mean and then everything gets confusing." She bit her lip a little and glanced sideways at him. "Isabela thought you left quickly, because--well it's silly, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," Carver said, although he was suspecting he did.

"No," Merrill said, mostly to herself. "You'd know. And so would I. I thought maybe she was right, but I think..." She sighed. "I think I should go find her and head back, unless you wanted to see her too?"

"Not really," Carver said. He didn't want to do much beyond get back to his duties and lose himself in work again. He also wanted to...

"Merrill--"

"Yes?" She turned back towards him, head tilted expectantly.

"I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye," Carver said.

Merrill smiled at him. "Ma serannas." She tucked a loose piece of hair over her ear, long fingers sweeping past the tip of it as it pointed up and angled towards the crown of her head. "You could do it now."

"Goodbye, Merrill," Carver said.

"Dareth shiral, Carver," Merrill said back.

She paused before turning, but didn't say anything audible, mumbling something under her breath about Isabela that Carver couldn't quite catch. He tried not to stare after her and mostly succeeded, turning back to the Warden stronghold.

Once he was sure she was gone Carver finally went to check the post. There was a sizeable stack of letters, but only two of them were from Aveline and one from Donnic, the rest were all from Merrill.


	17. Chapter 17

Carver was in the Deep Roads, putting his blade through a Genlock Berserker when the Herald of Andraste killed Corypheus.

He came up to ground a week later to find all the Wardens making plans about how to get everyone back from where they were hidden--with the added knowledge that some of the Wardens might have wanted to stay hidden.

Corypheus had been dead before, so Carver only said, "I hope someone pissed on his ugly head," before pitching in and volunteering to round up the other Wardens.

It was harder to get letters that way, but each time he returned to the nearest Warden camp or stronghold, he made sure to check. The first he received made him regret that impulse, it was a quick scrawl from 'Admiral Isabela' that only had one line, _You--are a complete tit (and not in the good way)._

A few weeks after that he got another letter from Merrill and made sure to reply to it, a little too eagerly, according to his fellow Wardens who gave him shit for not changing out of his Hurlock-blood drenched armor first.

The letters came every other week after that, but Carver wasn't always within reach of them. He and a few others roamed the countryside for any sign of Wardens who hadn't heard that it was safe to come back, while the Inquisition grew louder and more politically annoying as the Herald closed up rift after rift.

Carver only ran into one rift, but it was a mess of shades and demons that wouldn't stop coming through, so it was hard to be bitter about it--though he still gave it his best effort.

One evening he ran into Alistair checking the post himself, back from a Deep Roads excursion. "You know, every dwarf I've met, every single one of them, is less disgusting than Oghren."

"The more you talk about him, the less I want to meet him," Carver said.

"Won't be too hard, no one knows where he is," Alistair said, shaking his head. "Not that anyone is looking for him--if they were, they'd find him so quickly by the smell."

"Best not put Wes on it then," Carver said.

"Mabaris are worth too much to die by dwarven belching," Alistair agreed.

"Yes, you've got mail, Hawke," the postman, who had clearly never met Carver's brother, said before tossing him a thick envelope. "You too, Alistair."

"Maybe it's Oghren," Carver offered, trying not to rip immediately into the letter from Merrill and then be mocked for it.

"It's not covered in vomit and ale, so not likely."

"From Morrigan, it says," the postman said after he'd handed it off.

Alistair moved quickly and tossed the letter directly into the nearest open flame and wiped his hands off on his armor. "Maker!"

"History there?"

"History?" Alistair scoffed and kept wiping his hands off on his armor. "Probably hexed into a newt already, she was only waiting until my guard was down. Very dedicated, that witch, it's been over a decade--"

"Not an old flame then?" Carver asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alistair shot him a withering look. "She tried to set me on fire once."

"Wardens don't... they don't have that then?"

Alistair snorted and examined his hands carefully, as if looking for sudden appearance of newt-like qualities. "Have what? Flames? Certainly, they work very well on ogres, the mages love them." He looked at Carver for a moment and then laughed. "Oh, that's what those letters are about."

"No," Carver said, too quickly. "Maybe."

Sometimes he thought maybe. Merrill wrote a lot, but he wasn't sure if that was just Merrill. She probably wrote Varric as much. The longer he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that they hadn't almost had a moment back in Kirkwall and it was all some fantasy he'd concocted to have a good memory pair with the bad one of finding out about Garrett.

"The Warden Commander has someone flaming," Alistair said. "Not the way _I_ would have approached a thing, but apparently an attempt at assassination is a very successful opening move for Antivans. Lacks a bit of chivalry, if you ask me, I would have gone with a rose... something more traditional."

Carver skirted past the obvious question, mostly because Warden Commander Tabris scared the piss out of him, even if she still was off somewhere on a secret mission not even Alistair seemed to know the details of.

"It has an expiration date though, doesn't it?"

Alistair sighed and shot a suspicious look back at the flame where he'd thrown the letter. "Doesn't everything?"

The words stuck with Carver through the rest of the evening, late until past dinner when he was back in his room with the letter open. She started off thanking him for the blackberry seeds and Carver laughed as she described trying to plant them in the former Viscount's garden.

Most of the rest was Merril telling him about how Kirkwall was rebuilding, what the Alienage was growing into, and how she'd tried to get in touch with someone in the Inquisiton about her Eluvian and things were looking a bit more promising. On the last page, however, she'd started to write about the mages she was helping and how it had become even more important to keep them safe since they were afraid of the new Circle the recently elected Divine Victoria was trying to restore.

A lot after that was talking about something magey called a 'Dream Walk' that might have well been in elfish for how much Carver understood it.

Below that about six lines looked like they'd started and then were scribbled out again before finally:

_I saw Hawke in the Fade. I think he's still alive. He told me not to tell you, but I know how hard it’s been for you and I didn't think that would be fair. I don't think you should keep secrets from people you care about-- ~~that's what Marethari~~ \--_

_I'll keep trying to find him and help him home._

Carver stared over the words for a long time and then reread the letter twice, trying to make sense of it--finally he went to find one of the Warden mages. She told him no one physical could survive the Fade if they were foolish enough to try or they'd turn into Corypheus and start another Blight at best. She said what Merrill said was impossible.

But she'd never met Carver's brother.

Carver had a fierce, hard hope built in his chest for the next few days. Then a week passed by and the hope dimmed a little. Then another month and it had resolved itself to the pit of his stomach with the memory of Bethany, Father, Mother, and now his brother as well.

When he went to check the post after another excursion to the Deep Roads that had him sore and frustrated that it never ended. The letter from Merrill was small and there were water stains where she'd probably been crying.

_I'm so sorry, Carver. I think the Fade tricked me. It's done it before. I was so sure it was him. I feel terrible that I told you and got your hopes up. Please forgive me. I wanted it to be true so badly, I believed it._

It had been months since his brother had died, so Carver did not shred the paper into pieces or even crumple and throw it. He folded it and put it with the others and wrote back telling Merrill he had never believed it, so there was no problem.

The letters came less and less after that and Carver built a routine for himself that returned things to as normal as they were likely to come. He was Warden Carver Hawke, his loyalty was to his vows and his mission. The days started melding together when a raven arrived, tapping on his window. He threw a pillow at it and tried to get back to sleep, never feeling like he was able to catch up from the months without it, but it tapped and tapped and tapped, until finally Carver threw himself out of bed.

He opened the window and snatched the small scroll off the bird before slamming the window shut again. The raven screeched at him and flew off.

It was Varric's seal, which made no sense. Carver immediately tried to remember the last time he'd gotten a letter from Merrill, but he couldn't place it and the panic that gripped him, made him realize he did have _one_ more thing he really didn't want to lose.

When he opened it, the dwarf's scrawl was clean and to the point, even if the point was baffling.

_Junior,_

_Your brother, stubborn and fantastic bastard that he is, still manages to have dramatic timing that even out paces what I write. He wasn't dead after all, we found him tumbling out of the Fade from the very last rift seconds before the Herald finished closing it._

_Thought you'd want to know._

_-Varric_

Underneath it, another piece of paper, as thin and as sparsely written with familiar handwriting.

_I can't BELIEVE you didn't do anything stupid while I was gone._

_I'm so disappointed in you._

_-Garrett_

It was the second bit of wording that convinced Carver more than the first.

His hands shook as he brought the letter down to his lap and then finally put it on the bed. He raked his hands through his hair and took a moment to breathe out. The relief was two-fold, one mired in disbelief that his brother managed to do the unthinkable _again_ and the other was twisted with the thought of how afraid he'd been even for a few moments at the idea of anything happening to Merrill.

What was he doing? If there was even a chance that Merrill felt like he did, which she might--evidence recently showed she might--then Carver should do _something_ about it. If Garrett could claw through the Fade itself like it was nothing, Carver could at least tell a girl how he felt.

The mental declaration was immediately countered with Carver realizing he had no way to do that. He couldn't ride all the way back to Kirkwall, because he had Warden duties that he wouldn't abandon (especially since they'd never abandon him). The only thing he could do was a letter.

He probably should have written Garrett back first (being back from the dead and all), but Carver didn't want to lose his nerve. The only good thing about letters was that he could write what he wanted to say without muddling it up because Merrill looked at him sideways. It took him half the night, but he was pretty satisfied with what he finally sent out.

_Merrill,_

_I have a fair guess what Isabela told you before you came to Weisshaupt. I know she embellishes, so I can't say it's all true, but most of it is._

_You were right. I should say what I mean. You're extraordinary and anyone who thinks otherwise is an idiot. I'd like to be something, whatever I can be as a Warden, with you. If that's only being friends and keeping on the way we have been, then I'll be lucky. If it's more..._

_If it's more, write me. We'll go from there. Maybe get that drink after all._

_-Carver_


	18. Chapter 18

Merrill didn't write back. Carver went an entire month without a letter from her, unsurprisingly none from his brother as well, and the only one he'd received (from nanny dearest herself) felt like rubbing salt in a gaping wound. It didn't matter how busy he kept himself, how much he worked to put himself back into being a Warden, Carver was miserable. The kinds of risks people took _never_ worked out for him like they worked out for his brother. All Carver ever did was try and fail. Even his purpose, being a Warden, felt much of the same. They could kill as many darkspawn as they could find, but they'd still never completely stop the blights. There would always been darkness in Thedas, no matter what he did. Carver would always be a failure.

It was well past into that month when his brother arrived. Carver was still incredibly irritated at the state of his life, so the general fanfare he'd heard about the Champion of Kirkwall's arrival (and Wes abandoning him moments before to go slobber all over the preferred Hawke brother) made him lacking in enthusiasm. It probably wasn't even a 'thank the Maker, I'm alive!' visit, it was probably a 'check on my worthless little brother' visit.

Carver didn't wait too long, even as sullen as he was, he was grateful that Garrett was _not_ actually dead. He even had plans on telling him so, or at least telling him how stupid that note he'd left his pet elf was, when he walked outside the gate and saw Merrill standing there.

"I didn't think a letter would do," she said, cheeks flushed all the way up to where her ears began. "Your brother came with me--I know you probably want--"

It wasn't that Carver planned on interrupting her, it was just that the moment she was there in front of him and he'd realized what that meant, he'd already been halfway to doing what he was doing when she was still in the middle of her sentence. He was cupping her cheek and bending down to kiss her. Merrill didn't seem to mind, she laughed a little against his mouth and put her feet up on his boots so she was more at level with him, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull herself up. He lifted her by the waist to even it and could feel the tips of her toes balancing on his boots. This was a much better angle to kiss her properly, so Carver took full advantage and the month, the month _s_ , the years, seemed to melt as it was only Merrill and him and that scent of wildness that always lingered around her.

 

 

 

(He heard his brother, from somewhere outside the lapse of space and time that centered around Merrill's lips and ears, and nose, and hips, and fingertips and the little braid she hadn't let grow out like the rest of her hair.

"You'd think I'd get a _bit_ of greeting, what with my miraculous survival. Merrill's not the one back from the dead!"

Carver only slid one hand into a rude gesture before getting a better grip on Merrill's back and (mostly) ignored the sound of his very much alive brother's laughter.)


End file.
